Aquila
by Lywinis
Summary: After her mother's death, Hawke vanished from Kirkwall. Four years later, Sebastian sees someone he never thought he would again.
1. Morsus

Aquila

Chapter One: Morsus

* * *

She simply disappeared.

Her mother's ashes barely cool, she vanished in the dead of night, leaving nothing behind except for a pair of very confused dwarves and a stately but dilapidated manor in the city. Her Mabari vanished with her, along with enough food to last her several weeks and her journals.

They had searched, of course, combing the Wounded Coast and the slopes of the Sundermount, but to no avail. There was nothing. Varric and Isabela had exhausted their contacts to try and find a trace, a footprint, but she could have been a figment of their imagination if the pain she left behind hadn't been so very real. He himself had torn apart the countryside around Kirkwall, riding old deer trails and brushy paths, poking his nose into caves and thickets, looking for some sign, some indication of where she'd gone.

The only sign they had found had come months later, her staff driven into the soft earth at the peak of the 'mount in front of a cairn. Merrill had suggested she might be dead; he had threatened to cut out her tongue and had to be restrained. It had opened wounds afresh and for him, they hadn't yet scabbed over. It would probably help if the Staff of Parthalan did not hang on the wall behind the desk in his study. Surely that tore him open each time he happened to glance at it. He didn't care. It was all he had left of her, besides this festering coil of hurt and anger.

It had been years, and it hadn't abated. Not with the taking of Starkhaven. Not with the deposition of the simpering simpleton that had wanted to play politics by virtue of a weak claim of blood. Not with the clamoring of the landed gentry that wished to see him married. Not with the women who paraded themselves in front of him with the urgings of their noble mothers, hoping to land a Prince to increase their own social standing.

It had faded to a dull throb when he was out riding, hunting, brooding. He rode now, his falcon ranging with him as he urged his stallion Berach into a canter, ranging through the fields that bordered the Minanter. He rode for the forest, the quiet of the woods and the lodge that his father had kept when he was alive. He had ordered it restored when he was crowned, and now it was his refuge from politics and scheming mothers.

The day was just beginning to get warm, the weak spring sunshine breaking through the clouds. Above him, Gideon cried out, spotting prey on high. The falcon dove, talons outstretched to strike, and he could see the flailing furry body that the bird snatched from the ground. He stuck his forefinger and thumb into his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, slowing Berach's gallop. Gideon took to the air again, arrowing toward his outstretched arm with its heavy leather gauntlet.

The rabbit was fat and glossy, and he tore a hunk of meat out of the flank with his belt knife, tossing it high in the air. Gideon leapt from his wrist, keening as he caught the gobbet and ghosted up into the sky on a spiral of warm air. He watched the peregrine for a moment before tying the rabbit to his saddle and clucking at Berach to resume the ride.

He breathed in the smells around him: rich meadows with sweet grass, leather and good horse sweat, the small patches of Andraste's Grace that were almost hidden from view by the lush greenery. He passed herds of sheep that grazed under the watchful eyes of young shepherds, their wool coming in full and thick as the lambs cavorted around their mothers. All of it belonged to him; the land around him was sharecropped by farmers who swore fealty to the principality.

He kept his eyes on the tree line. He was angling for a trail he knew was there, one that led deep into the forest, towards the lodge. Birch and alder, elm and spruce all came together to form a thick canopy that enveloped him in dappled shadow as he eased his stallion onto the packed earth of the trail. Gideon wheeled above him, a thin cry wafting down to him from the sky. The peregrine would find roost at the aerie at the lodge; he was well trained, and his owner was not concerned that he would just fly off.

The familiar scent of spindleweed assaulted his nose as his horse trampled some brush that had grown over the path. It made his lip curl, both from the bitter scent and the bitter memory it invoked.

_A warm palm on the back of his neck, urging him to put his head between his knees to quell his nausea. "I remember the first time someone in the Red Iron tried to get me to smoke some. The smell alone made me feel like I was going to throw up the soles of my shoes."_

He pushed farther into the forest, letting the horse have his lead, his mind locked far in the past. He could not help it some days; his grief at her absence was still fresh enough that it _burned_, choking him with the heat of it. He could not begrudge the Champion his fame; he had stepped up admirably in the wake of his sister's disappearance. The only one he could blame was himself. He had not wanted to go to her when her mother died. He felt that it wasn't his place to intrude on her sorrow, and then he knew sorrow of his own when she was gone. He could have stopped her, he was certain now.

The rustling of animals in the underbrush went unnoticed. He claimed that he went out to hunt, but it was rare that he downed any game other than what Gideon stooped to catch. He merely went to the forest to be alone with his thoughts. It drove his advisors to the brink of madness, but his word had been law from the day the coronet had been placed on his head and he had ensured that everyone knew it. He had no fear of assassins. He would deal with them if they came.

The path he followed was wider once. It had been large enough to ride three men abreast, but the thickets of vegetation that grew up now had narrowed the trail into one that could only accommodate a single rider. He had cut the path himself, and had deliberately kept it small to avoid encouraging anyone to visit at his lodge. Berach knew the way and moved at a loping walk, fast enough to make distance but slow enough that he would not turn a hoof in a hole should there be one.

Pinpoints of sunlight slithered through the leaves, freckling on his hands as he stared at them. He was nearing his thirtieth birthday. He knew he could not escape the noose of marriage for long, especially when he did not have a cousin with suitable qualities to rule after him. Should he die without an heir, the principality would be plunged into war. Although it had recovered well in the last few years, thanks to Ferelden's reliance on their grain and wool, Starkhaven could not afford another struggle in a power vacuum he would leave behind. It was his duty to his people to provide them with an heir.

And he had never shied from duty before.

He tried to swallow the bile in his throat at the thought of marrying for political alliance. He knew his mother would have told him that only peasants could marry for love and he bit back on that, too. Dead these many years, Meghan Vael had sold him to the Chantry in the hopes of furthering their position in the Free Marches, and her influence should have rightfully ended there. The locket that hung on a sturdy chain next to a pendant of Andraste suggested otherwise. He could feel them now, pressing against the skin over his heart. Another thing that had been given back to him after his family was murdered, along with the bow that rested easily between his shoulder blades like a second spine.

He mulled over the choices in his head. Several noblewomen had expressed interest in him, all of varying degrees of beauty and wealth. He was not vain, but neither was he stupid; he knew he could have the pick of them should he want them, but something had stayed his hand, compressed his lips into a thin grimace where instead they should have curved upward in a charming smile. He had begged off of parties and masquerades, citing paperwork or treaties to avoid the rustle of silk and lace, the scent of perfumes and oils a poison far deadlier than anything an assassin could coat on his blades.

He could not avoid them for much longer. He sighed, shifting in his saddle, and the stallion pricked his ears forward. They neared the clearing where the lodge stood, sheltered from prying eyes and the rest of the world. He could just see where the path began to widen out, signaling the packed earth around the cabin and the stable.

Berach snorted, giving an alarmed whinny as someone darted in front of him. Before his rider had time to react, the great brute reared back, his hooves lashing forward as training took over and the horse attacked. There was a small cry, and a cloaked form went spinning to the side, into the brush. Berach kicked out with his back legs and reared again as his owner held on with his knees and tried to calm him. He danced to the side, great sides heaving as his eyes rolled in nervous tension. He placed a hand on the side of its neck, murmuring soothing things as he stroked Berach's mane and calmed him.

He dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground to indicate the horse should remain there. Berach complied, lowering his head as his breathing settled. He patted the side of the beast's neck as he looked toward the brush, noting the slim dagger that had apparently dropped from his assailant's grasp. It lay in the dirt next to his boots, and he tucked it into the saddlebag. Someone had meant to attack him, and he meant to find out whom.

The cloaked form did not stir at his approach, and only the rise and fall of the chest indicated that whoever it was still lived. Blood darkened the edge of the hood where the horse had struck, the soft grey wool going tacky with it. The face was shadowed by the hood, but the profile stirred something deep in his memory, tracing light fingers over his subconscious. Rough slippers encased her feet; she was indeed female, he saw, crouching down to look at her. Slender legs showed beneath a tatty skirt that was rucked up to her knees, holes in the fabric showing more of the creamy skin of her thighs. She was thin, almost painfully so, and her legs were badly scratched from nettles and underbrush.

A poacher?

He'd always made sure that the poor were well fed in the principality. He had initiated a work program that would feed and clothe a man for a day's honest labor. There should not be any poachers anywhere near his forests. This made absolutely no sense. He had hesitated before, to see if she had been faking her wounds enough to get the drop on him, but now he could see she was unconscious. He reached out to draw the hood back so that he could see her face.

His world spun out from underneath him, yawing and stretching as his breathing seemed to quicken and slow at the same time. The hood had covered short hair, filthy from weeks of living in the wilds, but had once shown a deep and lustrous red in the sunlight. A straight, almost aquiline nose had been broken once and mended poorly. Her eyes were closed, but he would bet that should she open them, they would be a dark green, dark enough to threaten to swallow him up. Her face was too thin, her lips cracked and raw from dehydration, but it was one he had seen in his thoughts for far too long to not be certain.

"Hawke," he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

His trembling hands nearly failed him. He tilted her head, examining the wound on her temple. It wasn't deep, but like all head wounds, it bled like a stuck nug. A large lump was already beginning to swell, and he couldn't remember if he should move her or not. He freed his dagger from his belt and cut a strip of cloth from the edge of her cloak, folding it upon itself and placing it against the cut on her scalp. Deciding that he should probably risk it, he gathered her to him, keeping her close to his chest, and stood. His legs decided not to give out on him; he was grateful for that. He would hate for one of his retainers to come looking for him and find him sprawled underneath a starving woman because he was so afraid of losing her again his legs gave way.

She was much too thin. It felt as if her bones were hollow, like Gideon's, and he held her tighter, afraid she would dissipate. He hoped this was not a daydream brought on by madness.

He made his way to the door of the lodge, and with some maneuvering, he managed to get it open. He eased her inside and kicked the door shut, laying her out on the couch that sat before the fireplace. He knelt beside her, easing her skirt down to a modest length and covering her with a blanket. He checked the ragged piece of cloth that had pressed against her temple, and noticed the swelling wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared. His horse must have barely grazed her. He blew out a thankful breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

He rose and went to the washbasin in the corner, picking up the pitcher to carry it to the well outside. His horse remained where he was, cropping the soft leaves of the brush around him. He'd have to see to Berach, and to Gideon, too. He retrieved the horse, leading it up to the stable.

He hadn't expected the low growl that echoed from the shadows. The horse shied away, sawing its reins out of his hand as the growl came again. He'd only heard that growl come from one animal in his entire life – a Mabari. He hesitated.

"Cambert?" His voice was soft, non-threatening. He got down on his haunches, holding out a closed fist. A soft scuffling came from the shadows, and then the dog appeared, thinner than he remembered, but otherwise in fine fettle. Cambert gave his hand a cautious sniff, still growling low in his throat, until memory kicked in and his stubby tail began to wag.

"Good boy. Good." He laid his hand on the dog's head and scratched behind his ears. Cambert tried licking his arm, but he twisted out of the way and stood up, retrieving the reins of his horse and leading the stallion into the stable. The windows were still shuttered against the rough winter they'd had. He struck flint and lit the lantern, hanging it above him on a crossbeam.

A rough pack sat in one of the stalls, and Cambert wandered back over to it, plopping down with the contented sigh of a dog doing a good job. A woolen blanket was stretched out over the stale hay left over from the winter.

"Was your mistress going to sleep in my stable for the night?" he wondered aloud. Cambert gave a soft bark.

He led the horse into the other stall, removing the saddle and tack and giving him a rubdown. Berach butted his head against him, and he stroked the soft nose thoughtfully before feeding him and giving him one last pat. The horse fed and watered, he turned to Cambert.

"Your mistress is in the house. Shall we take her pack to her?" The dog wagged his tail, and he reached for the pack, expecting a growl of warning. There was none, and he picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder, patting his thigh to indicate the Mabari should follow.

He deposited the pack next to the well, giving that sharp, clear whistle again. An answering cry, and Gideon landed on his wrist, preening. He carefully hooded the peregrine and stroked his back, taking him into the aerie next to the lodge. The aerie was situated near enough to the brick walls of the fireplace in the main lodge to keep it warm for the birds in winter, the wattle and daub building retaining heat in the winter and keeping cool in the summer. He eased the falcon onto a perch, made sure there was fresh water for him, then retrieved his hood and latched the door.

He drew another bucket of water, his mind churning the entire time. Why now? Why here, of all places? And why him? He had no answers to any of these questions, and they spun through his mind as he filled the pitcher and left the bucket on the ground for Cambert to drink. He picked up her pack and set it just inside the door, his gaze riveting on the couch. She slept still, and he knew she would probably be queasy when she woke.

If she woke.

He tamped down on that line of reasoning as quickly as it had come. It had been four years. He would not lose her again. Not this time.

He poured water in the basin, soaking a spare cloth with it and returning to her side. He knelt and removed the makeshift bandage, relieved to see the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. He wiped her face and hands, his touch gentle as he smoothed the filthy hair out of her face. His task was over much too quickly, and he sat back on his heels, unsure of what to do with himself. Cambert came to sit next to him, nosing his broad muzzle under his hands for attention, and he buried his face in the dog's fur.

For the first time in four years, Sebastian Vael lifted his voice in prayer.

* * *

A/N: Worried about college and other stuff, and I say I can't update _Obeisance_ enough, so what do I do? I start another chaptered story. Good for me, I'm retarded! *facepalm* I've plotted out a lot of it, and it's going to get really dark, really quick, so be warned. You might not like me after this one.

The prompt on the k!meme wouldn't leave me alone, however. Consider it AU of _Obeisance_, if you will. The prompt was this: "Hawke is grieving after what happened in All That Remains and decided she can't take it anymore and decides to leave everything behind. Without so much as a goodbye to her friends she disappear from Kirkwall, people looked for her but in the end they assumed she had died. Fastfoward a few years Sebastian got his throne back. Then he meet someone he never thought he would ever see again. Since this is AU, bonus point if you to do a little recap what had happened in kirkwall while she wasn't there. Also internet cookies if Carver gets to shine."

Fun facts:

Aquila is latin for "Eagle" (Because it's an AU, instead of Hawke, we have Eagle! *brick'd*)  
Morsus is latin for "Pain".  
Berach is Gaelic in origin, it means "sharp".


	2. Curatio

Chapter Two: Curatio

* * *

She woke with slow abandon, the pain in her head a dull throb that sharpened with the clarity of a blade as she opened her eyes. Firelight had her squinting as the blade twisted in her temple. Air hissed past her cracked lips as she tried to bring her fingers to her head, but her arms felt too heavy to move. Her stomach lurched, and she tried to swallow around her tongue, which was dry and shrunken.

A strong, warm hand worked its way under the back of her head; it eased her upward a fraction as a cup was placed to her lips. Cool water trickled in a silvery ribbon down her throat, and she tried to drink faster, greedy for it. The hand holding the cup would only let her take tiny sips, and she realized why a moment later as an icy sliver hit her gut and cramped hard. She retched, choking, and the cup was moved aside as hands lifted and turned her so she could vomit into a chamber pot that was held to her head.

She lay, gasping and weak, her eyes shut tight as she waited for the cramps to pass. Fingers pushed her sweaty hair back from her forehead, the lank strands tucked behind her ears as one might soothe a child. A cool cloth was pressed to her face, wiping the sweat of her exertions from her brow and neck. She sighed, a soft outlet of air that could not be heard over the crackling pop of the logs on the fire. She was not concerned for her safety. Why would anyone offer her water if they wanted to hurt her?

The cramping eased, and she relaxed on the couch. She took an experimental breath, and then another, deeper one. Satisfied her aching abdomen would not fail, she opened her eyes again, trying to let them adjust to the light of the fire. The pounding in her head was a constant. She rolled onto her back and raised a hand to her face, the fingers trembling as they explored a knot the size of her palm on her temple.

Hands once again intervened, pushing her away from the wound. "I've gotten it to stop bleeding. You might not want to touch it so soon."

The voice was familiar, a current that sent waves washing ashore on the beach of her memory. A rich tenor, spiced with a brogue that was unique to the area, it frustrated her that she could not place it. She struggled with her forgetfulness for a moment before turning her head to survey the room.

Rich, dark woods paneled the whole of it, giving the room a masculine feel. Stone floors that were clean, if bare. A fire burned in the grate of a stone fireplace, and a shield bearing the sigil of two crossed arrows rose above the hearth. The couch upon which she lay was plush and comfortable, also of good construction. At the worst, this was a minor noble's home. She turned back, searching for her savior.

A pair of bright blue eyes met hers, narrowed in thought as he looked at her. There were frown lines between his brows now, small creases at the corner of his eyes and mouth, but the face sent a jolt of painful recognition straight to the core of her. She fought the shudder that threatened, the rush of guilt and grief that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Sebastian." Her voice was no more than a croak, rusty with disuse. His lips thinned and he retrieved the wooden cup she'd been drinking from, rinsing and refilling it before helping her to sip more water. She drank with small, grateful swallows before attempting to speak again. "What are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same question, and I have more right than you to the answer. But for now, you should rest." He placed another cooling cloth on her forehead, and she resisted the urge to wince.

Her eyes drifted closed of their own volition, though she fought to stay awake. A head wound was serious, and she knew that sleep could be dangerous. She tried to rouse herself enough to cast a healing spell, but her aching head would not let her concentrate on drawing power from the Fade. She tried to make a frustrated noise, something that would voice her immense displeasure, but all she could manage was a murmur as sleep claimed her.

* * *

The smell of roasting meat woke her a second time. Her nausea had passed. Her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in several days, and she managed to sit up on her own. She brought her fingers to her head again, this time able to summon a minor burst of energy to ease the swelling. The inside of her mouth tasted vile, and she ran her tongue over her teeth in an attempt to remove the flavor of bile.

Two rabbits roasted on a spit over the grate, their skin brown and crackling in the flames, and she sniffed the air in appreciation. She leaned back against the couch, trying to get her bearings and avoid any more dizziness that the spell might have brought with it. She was probing her wound with gentle fingers when the door to the lodge swung open, admitting Sebastian.

He'd been out washing up; his hair was still damp and his shirt was slung over his shoulder in casual acceptance as he strode to the fireplace to check the rabbits, allowing her an eyeful of his bare chest. The years had been kind to Sebastian; he had not run to fat like so many nobles. He was wiry, his arms muscular from years of drawing a powerful longbow, and his chest was broader than she'd expected. A light, coppery-brown dusting of hair covered the sleek muscle of his chest, narrowing into a thin trail that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers past his belt. He seemed oblivious to her stare, the oblique curling of heat that suffused her stomach, and went about his business, tossing his shirt to the side as he pulled the spit off the hooks that held it over the fire. Having set the rabbits aside to cool, he turned his attention to her.

"Feeling better?" His question was polite and lacked the warmth of the friendship they'd shared once. She gave a mental wince, but accepted it. She had made her choices.

"Yes." She stalled, trying to find a way to breach the silence with something, anything, to say to him. He sat back on his haunches, his hands dangling between his knees as her regarded her with impassive scrutiny. His eyes were a falcon's, centered on her and intent on pinning her in place. She stifled the urge to fidget under his gaze.

"Why are you here, Hawke?" It was a half-question, laced with demand and authority. His mouth was compressed in a grim line as he regarded her.

"Passing through," she said and wanted to kick herself for the glibness of it. There was more to it than that. She had tried to keep away from familiar places since that bloody night, and had succeeded for the first three years. This past year and an ache in her chest had led her to the outskirts of Kirkwall, a rocky bluff allowing her to camp and look over the city for a time. She had not entered; memories had welled up at the sight of the City of Chains and she could not bear the ones that would come with walking those familiar streets.

"You just happened to want to spend the night in my stable?" He scowled. "Why did you attack me?"

"Attack? That was you?" She struggled to remember. "All I remember was the horse rearing up in front of me."

The horse had blindsided her, the huge animal appearing as she crossed the path, hooves striking out before she could ward it off. She had caught just a fleeting glimpse of the rider and the world had gone black.

"And the knife?" There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity.

"I was digging up roots and cutting edible stems for supper," she said. "I had little other choice. I eat what I can get, when and where I can get it. I can down a rabbit, if I see one before it sees me, but that's a rarity I'd rather not dwell on, thanks."

Her stomach growled as if to punctuate her sentence. He raised an eyebrow, but prodded one of the cooling rabbits with a fingertip. Seeming satisfied, he collected a bowl sitting on the side of the hearth and began shredding the meat into it. He handed her the bowl when he was done; it took all her willpower to not bury her face into it and start gobbling like an animal.

She picked up a piece of meat in her fingertips and brought it to her mouth, aware of the steam that still rose from it. The rabbit melted on her tongue, spiced with something she couldn't name. She closed her eyes as she chewed, trying to pace herself. She'd already been sick once; she didn't fancy having another go at the chamber pot that rested empty beside the couch where she sat.

He watched her eat for a moment, then saw to his own food. He was deliberate in his movements, slow and sure, as if to keep from spooking an animal. He carved larger slices of meat for himself, settling down against the warm stones of the hearth to eat and observe her. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and she paused, chewing, to regard him in return.

"Don't stare at me so, Sebastian," she said. "I'll not stick a dagger in your side the moment you look away."

"I wonder," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm still trying to convince myself I haven't fallen off Berach and cracked my skull open on a rock."

She frowned at him. "The only one with a head wound is me, to be sure."

He gave a lopsided smile that was all teeth, devoid of humor. "That _is_ what a hallucination would say. Tell me, figment of my imagination – where have you been?"

She leaned back, tucking one leg under her on the couch. Her feet were bare; some time while she slept, he had removed her shoes. Her eyes turned thoughtful, rolling back the years in her memory.

"I entertained thoughts of going home, to Ferelden, in the beginning. After I paid my final respects to the 'mount, I set sail on a ship to Highever. From there, I traveled to see how bad off Lothering really was. Even after seven years, they hadn't recovered. The land was blackened, tainted by the darkspawn beyond recovery."

He said nothing, so she continued. "Ferelden did not hold the call for me I thought it would. There was no magical feeling of 'home' there. I spent a few months wandering the Bannorn, healing peasants for silver to support myself. There still weren't many templars there, after what happened at Kinloch Hold, so I was able to move about with relative freedom."

She shifted her eyes to the fireplace. "It didn't help. It felt like a waking dream, like I was walking the Fade no matter what I did. I'm surprised I was never possessed, in hindsight."

His brows pinched together. "You were in Ferelden the entire time?"

"Did I say that?" She raised an eyebrow at him, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You always were impatient, Sebastian. No, after a few months, I took ship again, this time to Val Royeaux. I moved about Orlais for almost a year before moving on to Antiva. I came back to the Marches three months ago. I've been working my way along the border. I was on my way to Weisshaupt, to see the birthplace of the Grey Wardens. It seemed as good a destination as any."

A casual shrug from her set him to scowling again. He laced his hands over his bare stomach, trying to be nonchalant. She didn't doubt that he would be up and moving in an instant should the need arise; the tension in his body was coiled with promise.

"All this time, and you were just traveling around, seeing the sights?" His voice was a growl, dark with anger. "Four _years_, Hawke."

Her own voice was sharper than she'd meant it to be. "No, Sebastian, I was grieving. I'm still grieving. I can still see her face, and it feels like I died there with her that night. I left to bury myself."

"And what of the rest of us? You left us behind to pick up the pieces. If Carver hadn't been in the city, it would have all fallen apart." He made a slashing, negative motion with his hand, cutting through the air with the force of his words. "Two months after you left, the Qunari declared war on the city. You were their _basalit-an_. When you couldn't be found, and the Viscount's son turned up dead after converting to the Qun, even the thin pretense of diplomacy vanished. The Arishok took the keep and beheaded the Viscount before we could get there. Your brother was brave enough to stand up to him in single combat, a duel to the death."

Her heart gave a painful lurch as memories flashed in front of her eyes. Little Carver, dipping Bethany's pigtails in ink. His angry, petulant face as they worked for the Red Iron, complaining that he would always be in her shadow. His rare smile, a gift when he chose to bestow it on her. His eyes, rolling back into his head as the Joining chalice dropped from his hands and he collapsed into a trembling heap in the shadows of the primordial thaig.

At her unspoken question, Sebastian shook his head. "The Champion of Kirkwall yet lives. He cleaved the Arishok nearly in twain. I have never seen anything like that blow before or since."

A breath she did not realize she was holding escaped in a rush, followed by a curious surge of pride. "Does he still live in Kirkwall, then?"

"He does. He took up residence in the Amell family estate after the fires died down. The Grey Wardens attempted to reclaim him. His argument to remain there was persuasive, to say the least." A quirk of his lips. "All eight of them nursing various broken bones convinced them he was serious. He beat them black and blue with the flat of his blade."

This was something she was not expecting. She had known her brother to be capable; the knowledge had always been there, deep down. For him to exceed her estimation of him like this made a small knot of warmth form in her chest. She was proud of him, more than she could express. Instead, she looked into her bowl, fishing out another piece of rabbit.

His expression was hooded, calculating, as he watched her. She once again had the feeling of being sized up as prey, and she shifted, her eyes meeting his without wavering.

"He changed after you left. We all did. Without you, there was no reason to work together, and we drifted apart. Carver did not have the force of personality that you did." She refused to flinch. She had made her choice.

"Where do we go from here?" The question hung in the air, heavy and choking. A sarcastic answer welled up and she stuffed another piece of rabbit in her mouth to push it back and maintain the fragile peace between them. She chewed, deep in thought.

He turned his gaze from her for a brief moment to retrieve his shirt and pull it over his head. She squelched the small sliver of disappointment that wormed its way into her brain as he did. _That was never yours to begin with, and you know it._ She swallowed the bite of meat and set her bowl aside.

"You let me go. While I appreciate the hot meal and the information about my brother, there is nothing left in the Marches for me. I still intend to go to Weisshaupt."

"No." It was quiet, but it shattered her eardrums like he'd shouted it. It was a stinging slap to the face, and she reeled for a moment before regaining her composure.

"I doubt you could hold me here if I really wished to escape, Sebastian."

"As do I. However, you've trespassed on my lands, broken into my stable, and nearly killed me by spooking my horse. The least you could do is stay with me until your brother can get here and confirm that I'm not, in fact, insane for believing you were alive this whole time. I'd also like an explanation as to how you left without any of us knowing which way you went. Varric has contacts throughout the city, and where he doesn't have eyes and ears, Isabela does. You owe me that much."

"I can explain that, but if you're going to insist I stay here, then silence is all you're going to get. I'm sorry I trespassed on your land, Sebastian, but the house looked abandoned and a safe place to rest for the night before moving on, that's all." She folded her arms, looking as stern as possible. "Besides, your vows forbid you from keeping a woman in your home. Propriety is everything to the Chantry."

He gave a short, sharp laugh. "You're right about that. My vows did prevent that."

She couldn't help but notice that. "_Did_?"

Those bright blue eyes glittered in the firelight as he smiled at her again. "Aye. When I say you trespassed on my lands, I meant the moment you set foot on this side of the Minanter River for twenty leagues both east and west of the city. The crown prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian Vael, is your host."

* * *

A/N: Sebastian, you are such a broody, smug bastard in this one. Lots of back story in this one, Constant Readers, and there's more to come. Carver as Champion is the least of the plot twists I have charted out. Believe me when I say that this is going to get darker before the dawn. I also enjoy dialogue way too much. Anyway, as always, thank you for reading, the feedback has been overwhelming.

~Lywinis


	3. Licet

Chapter Three: Licet

* * *

Sebastian allowed himself the luxury of feeling smug as he took in Hawke's stunned expression. She was not the only one who could keep secrets, after all. He leaned back against the warm stones of the fireplace, his sentence ringing in the air like a thunderclap. He watched her flounder for a moment before taking pity on her.

"I'm not trying to keep you prisoner, Hawke. I only offer you my hospitality." He felt his lips curve by themselves into a smirk.

"Hospitality." Her voice wavered, a giggle that bordered the hysterical slipping out on the last syllable. "You've changed, Sebastian. Excuse me, Y_our Highness_."

The title was a slap coming from her, stinging across his pride like a whiplash. His smirk died. He felt the anger swell in his chest, the impotent rage of four years spent wondering lanced like a boil that spilled dark ichor through him. He was on his feet without realizing it, striding to where she sat on the couch. She shrank back, looking as if she would dart away.

He stood before her, looming over her, hands fisted at his sides. He didn't dare touch her. He would shake her until her teeth rattled in her skull. His words were slow, careful, and laced with that dangerous anger.

"You were selfish. You _are_ selfish. No matter how much you were grieving, you thought only of yourself. What about us? You would deny us the knowledge that you yet live? Deny us the chance to stop grieving?" He forced a measure of calm into his voice, willed his hands to unclench because the nails were digging into his palms. "Four years is long enough. It's time to start living again, Hawke."

She shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest as she scooted away from him. "There's nothing to keep me here, Sebastian. You've all moved on with your lives, and there's no place for me there anymore."

"Really? Aveline named her little girl after you, in your memory." She flinched. He continued, his face impassive. "Varric still tells stories about you, the last I'd heard. Even when he's asked for tales of the Champion, he replies, 'Which one? The one before or after?' Isabela is still casing ports, looking for you as she runs trade routes instead of pirating, because she believes as I did that you are alive."

His hands were shaking, and he stepped back, folding his arms over his chest. "Go, then. Leave. But know this: if you do leave, you will have three days. That is how long of a head start you will get before I come for you. I doubt you will be able to clear Starkhaven's borders on foot by then, and I know this land very well after riding it up and down for years, hunting and collecting rents. If I catch you then, I cannot promise what will happen."

She didn't move, chewing her lower lip. It was such a stark recall of how he remembered her that his jaw clenched hard enough to grind his teeth together.

"I'm sorry." It was low, almost unheard among the popping of the brands in the grate. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I can't stay here. I can't stay with you."

"Why?" It fell from his lips like poison. Who it would be more toxic for, he couldn't say.

"Starkhaven holds no memories for me. That was why I chose it. I did not expect to run into you, and I think that someone is having a good laugh at me right now. No offense, of course." She tilted her head to the side, her arms resting on her knees. "Then again, you don't flinch when I blaspheme anymore, do you?"

"I have not been the man I was for many years. The Chantry holds a place in my life, but not as much as it did. I would be accused of letting the Chantry influence my actions if I were more pious than society thinks I should be." He snorted with derision. "I have many more judging eyes on me now than when I was in the Maker's service."

She was studying him now, and he fought down the urge to fidget as she did. Instead, he returned the gaze with equal open scrutiny. She turned her head aside for a moment, and he caught sight of the line of her throat as it rose from her rough-spun shirt. The old urge that he'd had when he was sworn to the Chantry rose up, unbidden; an old fantasy of a man not made for chastity escaping any way he knew how. He saw in his mind's eye her throat bared to his touch, her head thrown back in delight as he laved the skin around the hollow there with his tongue.

She was already getting into his head again, as if she had never left. He both welcomed and hated it.

"Would you really hunt me down, Sebastian?" she asked.

"Will you really run from me this time, Celeste?" he countered.

The use of her first name seemed to startle her, as if she hadn't expected anyone to use it ever again. She was Hawke to so many people that her first name tended to fade into the background. She looked so tired, exhausted. She hadn't stopped running, not even now.

He forced the tension out of his shoulders, softening his expression. "I won't force the issue, but you're a healer, and you know better. Didn't you always chide Anders for not eating?"

Her smile was guarded. "I scolded Anders for a lot of things. Eating was only one of them."

"My point still stands. Stay with me, eat something good for you for a while. Recover your strength and then you can move on."

She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face as she uncurled her legs from the couch. "I don't know what you expect from me. Nothing is the same."

"Nothing remains the same for long."

The jingle of harness and the whicker of a horse from the yard interrupted him. He turned, striding across the room to the door.

"A visitor?"

"My bodyguard, more like. He'll have been sent by my retainers. I've been expecting him. It takes a few days for him to catch up, but he knows where to find me." He twitched aside one of the heavy drapes to glance out the window. "Aye, that's him."

He let the drape fall back into place and turned to her. "Stay here for now. Let me go speak to him. He doesn't do well with surprises."

Her jaw tightened, and he realized he had snapped orders at her like she was one of his servants. He snarled an epithet at himself for being an ass and started toward her, intent on apologizing. The full-throated roar of a Mabari on the warpath coupled with the squealing whinny of a horse in pain made him jerk the door open and run outside, Celeste hot on his heels.

The dun-colored mare reared back, her eyes rolling in terror as Cambert darted forward, snapping at her forelegs. She lashed out with her hooves and danced backward a few paces before rearing again. The rider was snarling curses and invectives in Arcanum, trying to get the animal under control. She kicked out with her back legs, sawing the reins from his hands and finally bucking him off her back. He landed hard in the dirt, rolling away from the lashing hooves.

Sebastian ran to catch the mare before she trampled him. He caught her reins and brought her head around with a tug, soothing her with a few commands. Her sides heaved and she blew shuddering breaths as her eyes rolled in their sockets. He led her to the entrance of the path and looped her reins around a bush before returning to help his bodyguard off the ground.

Shoulder-length white hair bound in a club at the nape of his neck was now filthy and hanging free in his face, covering black brows that furrowed in confusion. A gauntleted hand swept the strands out of his eyes as he stood, waving off the help Sebastian offered.

A sharp whistle brought Cambert wheeling around, trotting to his mistress's side with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Her look sent him to his belly in the dirt, whining low in his throat. She gave him another stern look before moving to join Sebastian.

"Are you all right?" Sebastian knew that a fall could be bad, but the way Fenris had rolled out from under the horse's hooves proved he still had his wits about him.

Fenris nodded, stretching limbs and testing for injury. "I seem to be none the worse for wear, although the dog would have it otherwise." His lip curled. "I thought I had seen the last of the damnable breed when…"

His voice stalled, his gaze flickering to Celeste behind Sebastian. He stepped around his charge, his bare feet finding purchase in the dirt as he wrenched his greatsword from the baldric at his back. Cambert was on his feet, snarling as he scrabbled to intercept the elf. Fenris stopped short of attacking, his sword held in front of him in a cross-guard as he put himself between Sebastian and the apostate.

A hand gesture from Celeste sent the dog back to his spot in the dirt, ears alert and muscles tense. She stood, staring Fenris down. Her chin lifted a fraction, as did her eyebrow.

"Are you going to cleave me in twain, Fenris? After all these years?" The question was filled with dry humor that didn't quite meet her eyes.

"You wear a dead woman's face, demon, and I know you for what you are. Show yourself." Fenris was balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to rush forward and deliver a killing blow should the need occur. Sebastian opened his mouth to intervene, but she gave the barest shake of her head.

"When I met you, you plunged your hand in a man's chest and pulled out his heart. You were a slave to a Tevinter magister named Danarius. How many nights did I sit in your mansion, teaching you to read?" A litany of their past spilled from her lips, and she made no move to run or attack. She spread her hands, palm out, in a gesture of peace. "You were a fearsome fighter, and I would have no one else at my back. If I were a demon, I would have killed Sebastian and lain in wait for you, wearing _his_ face. I would use every advantage to get the drop on you."

The logic of it sent chills down his spine, but he knew she was right. He cleared his throat. "She speaks the truth. She's had plenty of time to kill me, and she hasn't."

The greatsword did not waver as Fenris turned his head a fraction to look at Sebastian. "You're certain?"

"Berach nearly stove her head in, and she didn't become an abomination then." His voice was quiet. "She's been asleep for nearly a day now. I don't think she's a demon, Fenris. Stand down."

Fenris straightened, sheathing his sword. "As you say. But I will be watching, _mage_."

She looked as if she would have rather been struck. Her chin lifted another fraction, and she spun on her heel, calling over her shoulder. "I would have it no other way. You can watch as I leave."

Sebastian shouldered past Fenris to chase after her, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder at the elf. His expression softened as he saw the set of Fenris's jaw, and his clenched fists that shook with emotion Fenris never liked to show. His bodyguard had ridden with him many times, and they both had their memories of the woman that they spoke of through shared grief. He paused, struggled for something to say as Fenris turned to see to his mare.

He could not find the words, and pressed his lips together, hurrying into the lodge after Celeste.

* * *

She stormed into the house and searched for her shoes. Sebastian had removed them and hidden them, probably to keep her from walking out when she woke up. She gave a bitter curse as she dug through her pack to find her spare pair of shoes; they were too thin in the sole to be much good for heavy travel anymore, but at this point she didn't care. She needed to be away, and she knew she had lingered too long, letting him talk to her about promises of food and comfort. She should have known better.

She had made her choices. It didn't make the sting of Fenris's statement hurt any less, but she took hollow comfort in the fact that she had never intended to see them again, anyway.

Pulling the pair of shoes onto her feet, she wriggled her toe at the hole that was forming in the top of one of them. She frowned. She would have to find a cobbler in the next town, another expense that would delay her further. She shoved the rest of her belongings into the pack, noting the absence of her knife. She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and fastened the pack, standing and turning only to bounce off of Sebastian's chest as she made for the door.

He put his hands up to ward off her anger, but made no move to get out of the way. She made to step around him, but he folded his arms and blocked the doorway. He wasn't a large man, by any means, but he still managed to fill the doorway and stand taller than her by a few inches. He leaned against the jamb, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

"What happened to staying for a few days?" His voice was soft, rife with apology. She glared at him, shifting the pack onto her shoulders.

"That was before I remembered my good sense. I can't imagine my brother will be any happier to see me, if Fenris's reaction is any indication."

"You shocked him. I told you, he doesn't do well with surprises. These days, surprises mean Crows and a knife in the dark." His smile was charming, but she was angry enough to ignore it. "I _do_ remember asking you to wait inside."

"I remember Cambert trying to disembowel one of your horses. While I'm sorry he's so badly behaved, he was protecting me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make time before sundown, since I have three days to make it across the border of Starkhaven."

He frowned. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Hawke."

The use of her last name struck a chord in her. She drew herself up and looked him in the face, her brows knotted in a scowl. "Things change, Your Highness. So do people. I'm not the same woman you knew. It would do you some good to remember that."

She reached inside herself for her connection to the Fade, still strong after all these years. The smell of ozone began to build, filling the small room with the snapping crackle of lightning as she felt the spell gathering on her fingertips, the electricity arcing off her skin in popping flickers as she gathered the energy to herself. Pressure built in her chest, a swelling, heaving thing that pressed upward to her head and behind her eyes, willing her to release the spell. She was aware of her hair standing on end, aware of the white light gathering around her hands reflecting in the impossible blue of Sebastian's eyes as she held herself in check. He did not flinch away, to his credit.

"Step aside, Sebastian." The words were gritty, falling from clenched teeth. "I'll not pull punches with you for old time's sake."

A hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, and it was as though she'd been dumped into a stream mid-winter. The spell was gone, the connection to the Fade closed like a door slamming shut in her face. She gasped for air, her diaphragm flinching as if someone had punched her in the gut, and staggered, the remnants of electricity fizzling on her skin as she forced her legs to support her weight. She looked to her shoulder, and the hand squeezed in a painful crush, sending her to her knees with a hissing outpour of breath.

"I told you I would be watching, mage." Fenris was efficient, for all her anger at him was wasted as he kept his grip firm with the promise of more pain if she should move. He had looped a thin length of cord into a noose, and now he bound her hands behind her. He tightened the noose with a flick of his wrist and released her shoulder.

"You absolute _bastard_." She was even angrier, if that were possible. She wriggled against the bonds, but they held fast, and the sudden attack on her abilities left her helpless. It was something she had not felt for years, not since she'd escaped Kirkwall. She had been able to dodge templars with ease; with no one to protect anymore, she could remain inconspicuous, and the fear of being discovered had diminished. "You take your hatred of mages so far that you would train to kill them?"

"I have always trained to kill them." Fenris's voice was cool. "Templar training simply added to my skillsets."

She spat at his feet, to be rewarded with a stony smile. She turned her attention to Sebastian, who had been silent for the entire exchange. "Was this your plan from the start, then?"

Sebastian shook his head, his jaw clenched. "It was not. This has gotten completely out of hand. Fenris, release her."

Fenris scowled. "No. You baited her into attacking you, and forced my hand. I am not foolish, Sebastian, nor am I blind. She will be weak for hours due to the draining. Either kill her or tie her to a tree deep in the woods, but do not think I will let her go so that she can do what the Antivan Crows could not."

Sebastian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Celeste attempted to straighten her back, to regain some of her lost dignity.

"Well, I'm not going to kill her, Fenris. And neither are you," he added, looking stern. "We'll have to ride hard to reach the city by nightfall, though."

Fenris's scowl deepened. "You plan to return to the city with her?"

Sebastian gave his bodyguard a bland smile. "That was the original plan, yes."

"I don't have a say in this?" She struggled against the noose again. "I would really just like to be on my way."

"You considered staying for a few days. Let me extend the offer to a fortnight. After I'm satisfied you've eaten and regained your strength, you can go." He turned that bland smile on her, something wicked sparking in his eyes. The heat of his gaze would have thrilled her years ago, but now left the taste of ashes in her mouth. "You are welcome to stay as long as you like, however."

She twitched against the bonds. "Of course I can't refuse such hospitality, not when it's offered with such force. Very well, your highness, you've convinced me. If I stay a fortnight, you'll release me?"

If he noticed her bitter tone, he didn't show it. "I will. You have my word."

"Very well, then."

He reached down to help her to her feet, untying the cord from her hands. His fingers were warm, soothing, and she felt her anger ebb somewhat towards him. He stepped away, his face inscrutable.

"Fenris, will you ready the horses?"

Sebastian and Fenris exchanged a look, one that contained a whole conversation buried in a few moments. Fenris shook his head, pushing past Sebastian out the door. Sebastian heaved a sigh.

"I am sorry about this, Celeste. Consider this extended visit a way for me to make it up to you."

"It's done now, and I've agreed to stay. I can't promise I'll be a pleasant houseguest." She chafed her wrists where the cord had dug into them. "Especially if that's how you treat someone you claim as a friend."

He frowned as he took her hand and turned it over, brushing a thumb along the red line left by the noose. The electricity the pad of his thumb left in its wake was his alone; she repressed a shiver and snatched her hand away. His frown deepened, but he turned from her without a word and went to help saddle his horse.

She stared at her wrist for a moment before deciding that this was a very bad idea. She would take her leave as soon as she was able. It didn't bode well for her if this was her reaction to his touch, even after the indignities she had suffered at the hands of his bodyguard. She swung her pack off her shoulders and stumbled to the couch, aware of how weak she felt now. Putting her head in her hands, she stifled a sob.

Not again.

* * *

A/N: This is more of a transitionary chapter than anything else. Please don't be angry at Celeste; she's hard headed, like her creator. I had to find a way to get them together without one or the other seeming like a huge jerk, and then Fenris appeared and agreed to take the fall for plot purposes. Don't be too upset at him, either. I think he took it harder than the rest of them, because Hawke was his first friend since he escaped Danarius. You'll see Starkhaven next chapter, I think.

It's nice to see that the website is up again, this was done yesterday. If you'd like more reliable updates, feel free to find me on livejournal (user name lywinis) or deviantART (user name Silvy). As always, thanks for sticking with me, Constant Readers.

~Lywinis


	4. Aude Sapere

Chapter Four: Aude Sapere

* * *

Sebastian could feel Fenris's aggrieved stare on his back the moment he entered the stable. He said nothing for a long moment, busying himself with brushing Berach down to prepare him for the ride ahead. He replaced the saddle blanket and the saddle itself, bending to fasten the belly cinch before turning to Fenris at long last.

"You went too far, old friend."

Fenris snorted and finished brushing out his mare with a rough sweep of his hand. She gave a soft whinny and swung her head around to bite at him for his careless touch. He swore and dropped the brush. Sebastian shook his head, settling Berach's chest harness across the broad beast and tightening it so it would stay. Fenris placed the horse blanket over the mare with a snap, scowling at the horse as if to dare her to try and bite again.

"What would you have me do, Sebastian? You know only too well the dangers that lurk behind every person you come into contact with. She could have been sent by any number of your enemies who know of you and your time spent in Kirkwall. She was not impossible to find, despite our efforts. She might also be a well-informed double." The elf bent to fasten the mare's belly cinch with deft fingers. "She might be working with the Crows, or any number of people who would see you dead. For a minor principality, my friend, you have a lot of enemies."

It was Sebastian's turn to snort in derision. "My 'minor' principality now provides grain and livestock to half of Ferelden and a fifth of Antiva. It would not be hard to imagine the blood that would be spilled to take control of such a fertile river basin. Answer me this, then: If she were so bent on my destruction, why would she insist on not being taken to Starkhaven?"

"Any number of reasons. She wanted you to demand she go, to lull you into weakness. It could be a part of a larger plan."

"Fenris, you are far too suspicious for your own good, although it has served you well in the past. Trust me when I say that the Maker does not believe in coincidences. I think she's here for a reason, although nothing nefarious. She sat in there and spoke with me, and I think she's telling the truth."

Fenris shook his head, his lip curling. "I would have thought you would have moved on from this by now. Your infatuation with a memory will be the death of you, mark my words – "

"_Enough_." Sebastian's hand slashed through the air, curling into a fist at the last moment and pounding the stall divider between them. In hindsight, he was lucky the horses didn't startle; at the moment, however, he was angry enough to risk it. "My instincts are almost as good as yours, Fenris. She does not pose a threat. She's been running so long that she doesn't know how to stop."

"I will not allow you to put yourself in danger like this, Sebastian." Fenris was thin-lipped, just as agitated.

"She needs me." He took a deep breath, correcting the slip. "She needs _us_. She's forgotten what it's like to be alive and that she has friends. Help me show her."

"Have you even paused to consider the implications of bringing a mage into Starkhaven now?" Fenris folded his arms, ignoring the mare's attempt to lip at his hair. "The Circle was annulled when the renegades tried to set fire to it. There was never an attempt to rebuild the tower because of it. Do you think your people would blithely accept a mage in their midst?"

"She does not carry a staff, and she does not cast unless threatened," he said. He was aware of how stubborn he was being, and took a perverse kind of pleasure in arguing with Fenris.

"She resorted to magic when you would not move. How do you know that she won't see something else just as trivial a threat?"

"Because I remember how she used to be. She's still in there, scared and running." He ran his hand through his hair. "Fenris, you've trusted my judgment thus far. Trust me just a little while longer."

"I do not trust her, Sebastian. I will defer to your wishes in this, but know that I am not pleased about it." He paused, and speared Sebastian with a look. "I will watch her. That is all I can do."

Sebastian nodded. "I know."

* * *

They led the horses from the stable, saddled and ready. Cambert wriggled in the dirt, wagging his tail at Sebastian as he passed. He scratched the dog behind the ears, looking to the lodge.

Celeste leaned on the door jamb, looking out at them. She had changed into trousers for riding; he tried not to notice the curve of her hip, focusing instead on her face. He frowned at the dark circles under her eyes. They had not been noticeable in the darkness of the house, but now, in the sunlight, they were prominent and worrisome. He doubted she could sit a horse by herself even if he had an extra one. If the doorway were not supporting her, he would not be surprised if she swayed on her feet. The blow to her head along with her other injuries would have felled another mage. Her face was pale; he assumed she was still weak from the draining touch of Fenris's abilities.

She had explained the feeling to him once, when he'd asked.

_"Everything goes cold and dark, like being plunged into a stream in midwinter. The shock of it robs you of breath, and then it __**squeezes**__, tearing it out of you. If you're in the middle of casting a spell, it's like going deaf, dumb and blind all at once. That's how the templars subdue you. They wait for you to cast, and then they strike."_

He tried to give her an encouraging smile, but she looked through him, her eyes glassy with an unknown hurt. She shrank into herself, lost and broken. He ached for the expression on her face, wanting nothing more than to soothe her. Berach snorted, breaking him from his reverie. He went to the small aerie to fetch Gideon, pushing Cambert back with his palm and a stern word.

The falcon was in fine fettle, and seemed eager to be off. He allowed Sebastian to hood him after bobbing his head a few times and perched on the thick leather gauntlet. His feathers ruffled at the first sign of fresh air, and he let loose a small clicking chirp as he fidgeted on the gauntlet. Sebastian soothed the falcon with a stroke down the terciel's arrowed feathers, murmuring nonsense to him. As soon as he was far enough from the aerie, he removed Gideon's hood and lifted his arm with a sharp jerk. Gideon took to the air with a thin cry, his wings beating until he could find a thermal to glide higher.

"Must be nice," Celeste said from the doorway.

"Gideon comes back," he said, his tone gentle. "Come, let's be on our way. We have a bit of a ride ahead of us before dark."

Celeste did not look at Fenris. She could not even glance at his mare as the elf mounted up, leaping into the saddle with his customary grace. She could feel his eyes boring into her back as Sebastian offered her a pair of cupped hands to that she could mount the giant stallion. She scooted up as far as she could go, and then felt the saddle creak as he swung up behind her, his thighs pressing into her hips as he settled. She tried to ignore the heat creeping up her neck as she realized how close he was, but it was hard to do as his arms circled her so that he could take the reins.

"Relax," he said, his voice a murmur in her ear that sent sparks skittering down her spine. "Berach is well behaved, and gentle. He'll not hurt you."

She took a shuddering breath and tried not to lean backward against his chest too much. If he noticed, he said nothing.

Berach bore the weight well, unconcerned by his extra passenger. He shifted around with careful grace as Sebastian clucked at him, steering with his knees as he urged the stallion down the shadowy path. Fenris fell in behind them, his mare nickering in soft tones to the stallion ahead.

Berach's swaying walk ate the ground ahead of them, and soon they emerged into the fields of swaying oats that bordered the forest. The sun was warm, spring breaking through the winter's chill at last. The bleating of sheep echoed over the meadow, and she smelled Andraste's Grace in the air as they rode. Sebastian was a solid presence at her back; a constant reminder of things that could never be hers in the twitch of powerful legs steering the horse, the deep, even breathing, and the flex of forearms as he tightened or loosened the reins to his liking.

She forced her eyes to the front. Cambert kept pace with the horse, darting off to flush game at his leisure. She glanced upward to see Gideon wheeling high above them, the distinct curve of his wings making him look like a remarkable facsimile of Sebastian's bow. The wingtips arced in like a bow drawn taut and Gideon dove, his claws outstretched as he stooped to catch a small rodent that was scampering away from Cambert's enthusiastic dash.

She gave a small sigh as Gideon took wing again, and Sebastian spoke, his voice low enough to be heard above the jingle of harness by her alone.

"You wish to fly, then?" His chuckle was rough as his warm breath tickled her ear. "He reminds me a little of you, actually. Fierce and independent, with his own ideas about how things should be. He nearly clawed my eyes out when I was still learning to handle him."

"You'd like me to claw your eyes out?" she asked.

"Not in the slightest. I do like the fierceness of you. Perhaps if your talents were directed somewhere productive…"

His voice slid into a lower octave, stirring something primal in her that made her stiffen in the saddle, moving forward to put some distance between them. His chuckle sounded again, a wicked thing that slid fingertips down her spine. She clutched the saddle horn and focused on a point between Berach's ears.

She couldn't, and wouldn't, ride with Fenris. She would rather cut out her tongue. She straightened her back and stared ahead, trying to ignore the way Sebastian's thighs brushed hers and the feel of his hands so close to her sides. He didn't comment again, but kept the steady pace, Berach trotting through the fields.

The motion was soothing, and she felt the first vestiges of drowsiness touch her. She shook her head to clear it, but starvation and exhaustion were taking their toll and she couldn't fight it for long. Her eyes began to slide shut, and she began to nod forward over the saddle horn as they began to cut across the field toward the river.

His arm wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her back against him. He held her close, his chest warm against her back as they rode. She didn't fight, but settled back with a sigh, her eyes slipping closed as they followed the track that ran the length of the sluggish Minanter. She was lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing and the steady thump of his heart as the sun began its descent into the afternoon.

* * *

"Celeste, you should wake up." He squeezed her around the middle and spoke in her ear, his voice invading a restless dream. She sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes and looked around, the setting sun painting everything in a patina of orange and red, the tableau limning the city of Starkhaven.

She caught her breath.

High stone walls ringed the inner city, pennants with the high crossed arrows of red and blue snapping from the buttresses. From the inner walls the city had spread in a ring, brick merchant houses giving way to poorer but well-kept dwellings of wattle and daub on the outskirts. A broad footpath cobbled with granite began where the track from the river ended, and Berach ambled onto the road, his hooves clopping on the stone with a ringing flourish.

The road became lined with market stalls, farmers selling their wares next to merchants who sold fine Orlesian silks without anyone batting an eye. She caught the scent of roasting meat and chestnuts and heard the shout of laughter as someone stumbled from an alehouse, his steps unsteady as he wended his way homeward. Guards with breastplates polished to a mirror sheen over gambesons of red and blue patrolled with regularity, stopping at stalls to speak with shopkeepers or to browse goods for a moment before moving on. The tumult came to a crescendo as the reached a large fountain in the middle of what looked to be a crossroads that was built onto the stone walls of the inner city gate.

Here, merchants vied for the best spots to display their wares, lining their stalls with bright canopies in a cacophonous rainbow of color to draw the attention of customers. The circle was full of people browsing, eating, and walking, but a path cleared for Sebastian and Fenris as their horses walked through the crowd, the citizens inclining their heads in deference to their sovereign. He nodded at some of them but did not stop to speak, moving to the gates of the inner city wall.

As they rode through the inner city, Celeste could see large estates with marble facing, lush gardens bracketed with high walls, and many well-dressed nobles ambling about on the business of seeking their pleasure. She noticed the guards were doubled here; no doubt the nobles paid well for the security, for she also saw individual coats of arms standing at attention outside some of the estates. Another town square with a fountain carved of marble marked the center of the inner city, and with it, the river.

It ran through the middle of the city, crossed by two high stone bridges, one each on the east and west of the city. These were wide enough for twelve men to march abreast and wrought with a cunning set of gears that could lift the footpath out of reach of the merchant ships that used the river to get in and out, the clanking of the gears loud over even the bustle of the market that lined the city streets. They made their way across the closest one, the wide Minanter swirling beneath them as merchant ships docked along the banks.

Her eyes were drawn to an island that sat in the middle of the river, long enough to almost touch the two bridges with small fingers of land. A castle nestled on a sloped hill that rose from the center of the island, the crossed-arrow pennants large enough to be seen for a good distance as they lay flat against the sun-warmed stone. For from being imposing, the castle was spacious; from her vantage point, she could see a large outer courtyard, an inner gate, and then the bailey itself that rose up to watch over the island. A stone path wound from the inner gate to the tips of the island, where a sloped ramp connected to their footpath, perpendicular to the bridge.

She took all this in with wonder as they approached the middle of the mechanical bridge, a large tower marking the intersection. Ceremonial guards with red plumes in their helms snapped to attention as they passed, and a portcullis that marked the entrance to the castle gate rose to admit them. The horses broke into a trot, sensing the end of their journey, and they arrived at the gates to the castle in short order, which swung wide to admit them. The riders slowed their mounts just inside the courtyard, stopping before the bailey. Groomsmen came running to see to the horses as Fenris dismounted, tossing the reins to one of them.

She felt Sebastian slide from the saddle, and made to do the same; she had not counted on the number the ride had done on her legs. She felt her knees wobble and give way as she landed, and only Sebastian's hands under her arms kept her from collapsing to the cobbles. Her stumble caused her to press against him, and she sucked in a breath as she felt the full breadth of his chest. She jerked herself upright and snatched her hands back, feeling Cambert lean against her for support.

Sebastian smiled at her discomfiture and reddening face, putting his index finger and thumb in his mouth to give a sharp whistle. An answering shriek from above heralded Gideon's descent, the peregrine belling his wings with a snap as he mounted Sebastian's leather gauntlet. He hooded the bird and handed him over to a young man who carried a similar leather gauntlet on his left hand; Celeste assumed that he was to take Gideon to the mews.

While Sebastian spoke with the man in a quiet undertone, Celeste had the chance to look around, the slow realization that she looked like a scullery maid dawning on her as she took in the fine make of even the servant's clothes. She felt heat creep up her neck, ashamed of her attire as she focused her gaze on the ground. She was aware of the curious eyes of the stable hands on her as they took Berach and the other mare away to be fed and brushed, but she paid them no heed.

Sebastian finished speaking with his master falconer and turned to her, and she pressed her hand to Cambert's head for reassurance as the prince smiled at her, extending his hand.

"My Lady Hawke, please allow me to be the first to welcome you to Starkhaven, and my home, Arrow's Rest."

* * *

A/N: Like Sebastian, I'd like to welcome you to my version of Starkhaven. This has taken a lot of thought, and a lot of planning, and hopefully it meets with approval. You'll be meeting a lot more of the inhabitants of Arrow's Rest soon enough, and a few of the nobles; some friends, some foes. I'll leave it up to you to decide who's who. There are more reunions to be had, as well as intrigue and skullduggery.

As always, thanks for reading.

~Lywinis

**Fun facts for this chapter:**

**A falcon's cry is known as a 'chant'.**

**_Aude Sapere _means dare to know.**

(Also, limericks:

_Scrawled in the margins of a filthy bit of Isabela's 'friend fiction':_

_There once was a girl from Ferelden,_  
_Whose wickedness was merely held in_  
_Said the Prince with a sigh,_  
_and a gleam in his eye,_  
_"It's not the 'if', sweetling, but when." _)


	5. Inter Spem Et Metum

Inter Spem Et Metum

* * *

She forced her spine to straighten as she took in the courtyard of Arrow's Rest, reminding herself that she was not the same woman she was when she had first entered the Free Marches. Her mother would not want her to embarrass the Amell family name, regardless of whether her daughter considered herself an Amell or not. She dug inside herself for the training her mother had tried to impose on her when they had regained their family home.

_Head back, shoulders straight. Let them think they can't touch you._

She was exhausted, in both mind and body, but she would not show them. She would not allow them to think her some stray that the prince had brought home. She had not dealt with nobles in some time, but she still remembered. Sebastian was kind enough to not make a mention of it, instead climbing ahead of her up the stairs and issuing quiet orders to have a room prepared for her. She trailed behind, feeling much like driftwood caught in the eddies of his wake.

The soft pad of bare feet on the stone behind her made her aware of Fenris, and she grit her teeth as she tried to ignore the panic that welled up at the realization that he intended to follow her. It was not so much fear of Fenris as it was the remembered fear of templars, she knew, but it was there nonetheless.

"Surely you have something better to do with your time than skulking around after me, Fenris," she said, her irritation slipping through her words and turning them into a snap.

"On the contrary, mage, I am doing my duty. I told him I would watch you, and so I am." Fenris could even sneer with his words, it seemed. His tone was low enough so that the quiet rumble of his voice could be heard between them without reaching the curious ears of the servants who still lingered in the courtyard. "You are not to be trusted."

She whirled on him, her finger raised in his face, almost touching his nose. Her smirk never made it to her lips at the sidestep he took to avoid the contact, but the pleasure she took in his awkward shuffle was there, a small coal to fuel her resentment and anger.

"Yes, because I am here at Sebastian's request, and because I seem to have no choice in the matter. I imagine that there will be letters sent to all our old friends for a happy reunion that I have no intention of participating in. You'll be pleased to know that I will be gone within the fortnight, if not sooner, since you would rather I not be here at all. Quit snarling, Fenris, it never worked before, and it won't start working because you will it so."

"Duly noted," he said, sweeping past her and up the stairs to where Sebastian was watching them, his eyes half-lidded as he took in her minor victory. He shot her a lazy smile as Fenris brushed past him into the castle, heedless of the gawking stares of the servants as his bodyguard ignored propriety. She tamped down on the curl of heat that started in her belly and finished climbing the steps, preceding him into the foyer of the castle.

Arrow's Rest was just as imposing on the inside as it was on the outside. The foyer where guests were to wait was vaulted with a high ceiling, buttresses of polished wood climbing the walls to border windows that let in the evening sunlight through their smooth glass. The floor was a pebbled mosaic, light and dark river stones worked into an artful rendition of Starkhaven's crossed arrows, the reddening light of sunset from the windows adding a much needed dollop of color to the sobriety of the room. The stone of the walls was carved with a repeating, pebbled design that drew the eye without being gaudy. She tried not to gawk.

"I take it my front hall meets your approval?" She could hear the smirk in Sebastian's voice, damn him.

"Ostentatious, to say the least." He gave her a hooded look, and gestured for her to follow him.

She allowed herself to be led through the central double doors of the entrance hall and up another flight of stairs. The stone walls here were broken up with tapestries, delicate works of stitchery that depicted daily life outside the castle walls and were designed to keep out drafts in the chill of winter. She caught glimpses of farmers at work in the fields, ferrymen poling barges of goods down the Minanter, and nobles attending courtly dances dressed in finery. She did not stop to look at them overlong, for she was sure Sebastian would have another snarky comment ready should she show appreciation for the wealth of his home.

Cambert remained at her heel, trotting along with a docile wag of his tail at everyone he met, so long as they did not step too close to his mistress. She kept a hand on the thick scruff of fur at his neck; it was more a comfort for her than any means of control on her part. The Mabari responded to sharp commands and hand gestures, not physical force. The warmth of his fur was a familiar and soothing presence.

Striated stone flooring gave way to polished wooden planks as they neared what could only be living quarters. The tapestries before had been interspersed between windows of plated glass; the arrow slits that served as windows now proved that this part of the castle had been built in more difficult times. The light was no less here, although it was purpling now as the sun slipped behind the horizon. Braziers along the walls had already been lit by the servants, the brands crackling merrily in the fading light. Strong oak doors stained a dark brown and banded with iron stood open along the hall, giving glimpses of plush guest quarters, scented with sachet and redolent with oil and furniture polish.

He stopped at the end of the hallway, pushing a door open wider. She entered, turning around to take the room in. A woven carpet of soft sheep's wool lay before the fireplace, flanked by two chairs; the logs in the grate were already burning. A large bed was covered by a quilt stuffed with goose down, the pillows enticing and plump. Even her sleep on the ride through the fields of Starkhaven could not inure her to the call of that bed.

The furniture was well made, carved of pine into fanciful swirls and stained a light brown. This was an airy place, meant for a female guest to be sure. She made a slow turn about the room, looking out the large paned window to see the river and part of the courtyard below.

"These quarters are yours, for as long as you would make use of them." Sebastian's voice was quiet, an unreadable expression on his face. "The library is through the door on your left as you exit your room, and the main hall is back the way we came. I'll send Alice to tend to you in a moment. I'm sure you want a bath, and you'll need more clothes."

"That's hardly necessary." The thought of him buying her clothing was too much. "I'm just fine with what I'm wearing, but the thought is nice, thank you."

"You're my guest, Celeste. I can't have the nobility looking poorly on me because you refuse basic clothing when you haven't got anything." A slow smile spread across his lips, a predatory look that she had never seen him wear before. "However, I certainly shan't complain if you decide to walk the halls of my estate in nothing but your smalls."

She glared at him, cursing the color that rose in her cheeks. He gave another wicked chuckle that sent heat pooling into her belly. This Sebastian wasn't the man she was used to; the man of chaste vows and impulsive decisions had been replaced by someone she had no way of reading. It was thrilling and frustrating all at the same time.

"Would it hurt to have new clothes to travel in, when you decide to move on?" he pressed.

She gave in, for what else could she do? She feared for her willpower if this was how easy she conceded the point to him.

The sooner she was away from here, the better.

She sighed. "As His Highness wishes, so it shall be done."

A sour look crossed Sebastian's face, and he frowned in obvious displeasure. "I am only ever Sebastian to you, Celeste. I have always been such, and so I shall remain."

"If I were to call you Sebastian in front of your servants, I think the whole city would have a fit of apoplexy. It's best that we remain formal, Highness." She was pressing the issue, she knew, but it was a chance to put much-needed distance between them.

The frown deepened, but he gave her a stiff nod. "As you wish. I'll send Alice to tend you in a moment. Sleep well, my lady."

"And you as well, Highness." She watched him give her a curt bow, his back rigid as he left the room. The door shut behind him with a soft _click, _leaving her alone with her thoughts and the popping of the logs in the grate.

* * *

A soft scratch at the door some while later broke her from her contemplations, and she turned to see an older woman bustling in, a measuring tape over one arm. She was flanked by two pages that carried steaming buckets of water through a door in the corner of the room, which could only be a private bathing area. She heard the splashing as the buckets were dumped into a tub, and then the boys trooped out, nodding at the old woman's instructions to 'be quicker so the bath doesn't chill'.

Once the woman ceased fussing at the pages, she turned her attentions to Celeste. She was a plump woman, her hands creased and chapped from years of manual labor. Steely grey eyes creased with laugh lines regarded her with a knowing look as those hands rested on her hips.

"Oh, Himself has given me naught to work with, he has," the woman murmured. Celeste couldn't help but feel a bit insulted. The woman noticed, and bobbed her head, the grey-streaked brown hair caught in a bun nodding in contrition. "Begging your pardon, of course, ladyship. Alice is my name, and I tend to run my mouth off, I do."

Celeste allowed a small smile to cross her lips. "Of course, Alice. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Celeste."

"Oh no, that won't do at all, your Ladyship. But enough about me and my flapping gums, let's see to your clothes." If she ever had reason to refer to someone as a mother hen beyond then, she would forever think of Alice. The woman was a flurry of movement, bustling about her as she took careful measurements, clucking her tongue at how thin Celeste was. The pages trooped in thrice more with steaming buckets before Alice stepped back, her lips pursed in thought. Celeste was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the woman's poking and prodding, but held still through it. She let out a sigh as Alice stepped back. Alice's pursed lips spread in a smile at the sound.

"I know how you feel, your Ladyship, but Himself is not one to be denied on something like this. Not to worry. I won't trouble you with anything too ornate." Her smile widened. "One such as yourself is best suited to simpler things, anyroad."

Celeste shrugged her shoulders. "I've not been to many noble parties, so my good dresses were left at home." The humor was acerbic, but it was there. She was surprised at it, coming bubbling to the surface after so long. This was a week for surprises, it seemed.

Alice gave her a reassuring pat on the cheek, her fingers calloused but not unkind. "Not to worry. We'll have you something whipped up by the morning. Now, off to the bath with you, while I have one of the maids fetch one of Lady Penelope's nightgowns. She was sister-in-law to Himself, and about your size, Ladyship."

Alice bustled out of the room, leaving Celeste with Cambert. The Mabari chuffed in a soft bark to her, and she scratched behind his ears. He wriggled his head into her fingers, stubby tail wagging.

"I don't know how we're going to get ourselves out of this one, lad." Cambert gave her hand another nuzzle before lying down on the rug before the crackling flames. She chuckled. "Of course, you _would_ rather nap before the fire."

She moved to the other room, the heat of the bathwater raising fog on the window. The room was set with little white and blue tiles, slick in the steam of the water. She toed her shoes off and padded across the tiles, her steps careful. She stripped her clothes off at the edge of the copper tub that was set into a stone enclosure, trailing fingers over the steaming water. It was just on the edge of boiling, and a basket of fragrant oils and soaps rested on the stone lip of the enclosure, as well as a cloth for washing.

Uncapping one of the bottles of oil, she froze. Honeysuckle and orange blossoms wafted up from the thick glass bottle, a scent that hit her hard with the memory of the similar oils her mother used to press for her back in Lothering. It was a slap in the face that left tears stinging her eyes.

It was odd. She had thought herself all cried out almost a year ago, whenever an errant thought about her mother did not send her into sobs any longer. The opaque glass bottle trembled in her grasp as her vision went blurry. Hot, fat tears slid from her eyes and dripped into the steaming water of the bath, salting it with her sorrow. She hiccupped a sob, clutching the bottle to her breast.

She closed her eyes and let the painful memories wash over her with the scent of honeysuckle and orange. Soon, the storm of tears ended as it had begun, with an abrupt flourish. She looked down at the dark green bottle, running her thumb along the neck. She poured a measure of the oil into the bath, taking a shuddering breath as she capped the bottle and slid into the hot water. Something in her cauterized with the water, and she leaned back with a small sigh.

It felt like coming home.

* * *

She felt much more human after the bath, pulling the nightgown that Alice had laid out for her over her head and settling next to the fire to dry out her hair. The nightgown was a little big in the hips, but it was long enough and comfortable for the evening. She ran a carved wooden comb through her hair as it dried. It was not long enough to require any sort of braiding, but it was thick and would curl if she didn't at least dry it before she slept.

Alice was a miracle worker, Celeste decided; there was a plate of hot pasties on a table next to the fire, along with a tea pot and mug. Cambert was busy gorging himself on his own food, a haunch of beef no doubt used to placate the glutton. She poured a measure of the tea and inhaled the earthy aroma before taking a cautious sip. It was warm and soothing, and she wrapped her hands around the mug as she stared into the fire.

Was it so wrong to let Sebastian fuss over her for a little while? Being gracious had never been in her nature, but she could surely let him satisfy himself that she was well-healed and provisioned before she set out again. Cambert was getting older; he would only benefit from recuperation for a few weeks. She turned her eyes to the Mabari, noting the silver that flecked her faithful companion's muzzle and chest. Perhaps a rest was in order, after all.

She picked up a pasty, biting into the flaky crust and letting the warm filling slide over her tongue. It was rich and meaty, and she closed her eyes as she chewed, her stomach growling louder after the single meal of rabbit she'd had that day. She ate with Cambert in companionable silence, growing full and sleepy before the fire. Yawning, she threw Cambert the rest of the pasties, knowing the glutton would finish them off. Draining her mug of the last of the tea, she made her way over to the bed, turning down the coverlet and crawling beneath the blankets. After a few minutes, she felt the tick shift as Cambert leapt onto the bed, nosing up against her back. It was a habit from their time on the road, but she was too tired to dissuade him now.

_Yes_, she thought as sleep claimed her. _Perhaps a rest is in order, after all._

She woke to the sunlight slanting through the windows, the pressure of the Mabari gone from her back as she sat up. Someone had lured Cambert from the room, probably to feed him and let him out. She brushed the bangs from her face, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed to rise. It was still early morning, from the way the sun slanted into the courtyard. Soldiers milled about, drilling in the spring air, their shouts and the clash of arms muffled through the glass.

She turned, noting clothing had been laid out over the chair for her, along with a shift. She thought again that Alice was a miracle worker, until she took in the archaic cut of the clothing. A green under dress with tight sleeves fell to her ankles, to be overlaid with a sleeveless surcoat of brown fabric embroidered with gold trim. A wide leather belt completed the outfit, along with a pair of green slippers that were loose in the toe. She had seen her mother wearing something similar in a portrait at the Amell estate. She slid the shift over her head, noting that the dress bore stitch marks at the hem and hips. Someone had mended the dress so that it would not sag in the wrong places. She pulled the surcoat over her head and belted it snug, slipping her feet into the slippers. She shook her head as she looked at herself in the glass.

Lady Penelope had plain, simple taste in clothes. Celeste wished she could have met the woman. That thought brought several more whirling into being for her. Sebastian had lost his entire family as well, but had borne up the strain with admirable aplomb. He had the Chantry to lean on, but he had never spoken of it to her, and she knew he considered her a close friend. She wondered if perhaps he took her disappearance four years ago as a personal affront to his own grief; she had given in while he had not, after all. She smoothed the surcoat in an absent motion, filing that realization away for later.

Opening her door, the halls were quiet. Servants passed like shadows, their eyes lingering on her as she moved down the hallway. The main eating hall was deserted as she entered, although there were trenchers of bread and fruit on the tables for any late risers. She tucked a few handfuls of dried apples and a small, round loaf in her pouch, determined to find a secluded place to eat. The main eating hall connected onto a series of hallways, a maze of the castle she hadn't yet seen.

She wandered the hallways, finally coming out onto what looked to be a private courtyard on the back of the castle. Early morning sunlight filtered over the walls, illuminating the pillars that supported a balcony circling the courtyard, forming a roof over her head. She had a suspicion that this courtyard was Sebastian's, but she wandered between the columns regardless, seeking seclusion where a nosy servant wasn't likely to pry. She noticed that there was an archway that led to the banks of the river itself, a hidden stretch of land that wasn't easy to see from the river itself, but provided a landing place for a small boat, should there be need. Brush grew thick here, and a large apple tree bent its branches over the river, heavy with blossoms.

The murmur of approaching voices sent her skittering behind a pillar. They were distant enough to be unrecognizable, but she knew that to be caught here might not be in her favor, especially if they were guards. She darted from the shadows and managed to sprint through the archway, pressing her back against the sun-warm stone. The conversation grew louder, more distinct, and she felt her heart begin racing as what sounded like two very familiar men entered the courtyard. The clatter of what sounded like weapons being tossed to the ground had her peeking through the arch.

It was indeed Sebastian's private courtyard, for he and Fenris were preparing to spar. The prince and his bodyguard stood at opposite ends of the sunny space, each in an easy stance. Sebastian had forgone his armor, instead wearing a stained and well-used set of leathers, butter soft and flexible. Long knives were belted at his waist, their hilts resting under his hands as he rolled his shoulders. Fenris wore his usual armor, unchanged from when she had known him, save for a sigil with the crossed arrows of Starkhaven at his belt, signifying his allegiance to the Prince. His hand touched the pommel of his greatsword as he spread his weight to the balls of his bare feet, tensing.

An unspoken signal passed between the two, and Fenris darted forward, his greatsword slicing through the air where Sebastian had been as the archer exploded into motion, knives flashing. A series of quick, staccato parries had him backing across the courtyard as Fenris pressed the advantage, using his greater strength to harry Sebastian into a corner.

"You still aren't watching your surroundings," Fenris said, a brutal overhand chop missing Sebastian by inches as he rolled away from being pinned against the wall.

"And you still assume I'm a warrior," Sebastian replied, swinging the pommel of one of his knives into Fenris's ribs and tapping him. "Point to me. That would have been fatal."

They separated, and Fenris returned to the offensive, his blade coming around in a short jab that looked impossible for such a large weapon. Sebastian hopped back to avoid it, his knives in an underhand grip as he spun behind Fenris, putting his boot to the elf's back and kicking out with a grunt.

They came together with another clashing of steel, Fenris pulling his blows as Sebastian blocked, backing the prince around the courtyard in a slow circle, working through a brutal rhythm that had both of them deep in concentration. The grunts and the ringing strikes of steel on steel were peppered with either Fenris or Sebastian calling point for that round and trading good-natured insults over the other's form. They separated, only to come back together in a graceful dance, the whirling defense of Sebastian's knives countering Fenris's blows. They worked from one end of the courtyard to the other, the intensity of the sparring never notching below a frenzy.

She watched them as the sun rose higher in the sky, warming the day into what might have been the beginning of a summer day in Kirkwall. She had forgotten about remaining hidden, the play-by-play of the sparring drawing her attention far better. As the sun neared its zenith, Sebastian called a halt, Fenris's overhand blow caught between his upraised blades. It seemed to be a ritual, and Fenris backed away, sheathing the greatsword.

Sebastian and his bodyguard moved to one of the marble benches that circled the courtyard, removing their weapons. The prince drank deep from a waterskin before handing it to Fenris, and her eyes were drawn to the strong lines of his throat as he swallowed. His eyes closed in appreciation of the refreshment, and she found herself biting her thumbnail. As Fenris drank, Sebastian began unbuckling his armor, the leathers coming away to reveal a soft cotton shirt, dark with the sweat of his exertions. He unbuckled his belt, the pants he wore riding the slim lines of his hips without its help, and stripped his shirt as well.

She felt the color rising in her cheeks as she beheld the taut musculature of his back, slick with sweat. She was close enough that she could see the bunching muscle as he stretched with languid ease after his workout, knuckling the small of his back as he went up on tiptoe with a grunt of appreciation. Fenris was also unbuckling his armor, more of the silvered lyrium that ran in delicate lines along his tanned skin coming into view as he laid his blackened breastplate on the bench and discarded his tight-fitting shirt.

"Blessed Andraste, you would think growing up here would have inured me to this heat," Sebastian said. He rolled his shoulders again, leaning his head from side to side as he stretched again. He jerked his head toward the river, causing Celeste to jerk back behind the wall, even though neither of them was looking at the archway. "I'm going to have a wash before we head back in, it's too bloody hot not to."

She could hear the roll of Fenris's eyes in his voice as she scrambled away from the archway into the thick brush by the water's edge. "Tevinter is hotter two months before the Marches, and yet you mewl like a child the moment spring is here."

Sebastian snorted, and then she could see him through the concealing press of the leaves as he passed through the archway, the sunlight dappling his chest through the apple tree's leaves. She drew in a breath as an errant thought passed through her mind – the thought of running her hands along the expanse of his chest, her fingers pale on his tanned flesh. She realized she was biting her thumbnail ragged, and froze as Fenris swept the brush with his gaze, his hand on a belt knife.

It seemed to be merely a precaution on his part, however, because he leaned against the tree and averted his gaze as Sebastian began – oh _Maker_. Celeste's heartbeat sped up as Sebastian yanked off his boots, shucking his trousers as soon as the boots were tossed to the ground. She was frozen, unable to look away from the expanse of tanned skin before her, laid bare for view. Her gibbering mind noted that he wasn't wearing smalls, but that was soon swept away as he stretched again. The muscled, powerful thighs flexed, rippling motion that traveled upward, through his buttocks and back. Sweat had pooled in a dimple right above his buttocks, an indentation there as if the Maker himself had left a thumbprint as a seal of approval.

Her tongue wet too-dry lips without her noticing, her eyes following the lean form as he walked forward with casual grace and dove into the water. He knifed under the sluggish waters of the river and came back up, bobbing like a seal as he surfaced. He swept his hair out of his eyes and gave Fenris a grin.

"Fenris, the smell of sweat and leather are not kind to ladies' noses. The stench will make them faint at your feet. You need a bath as much as I do."

Fenris sighed. "Must I?"

"Do you really think Crows will explode from the bushes the moment you turn your back if you relax enough to have a bath?"

"Perhaps."

"If I have to come and toss you in, I will."

"I would very much like to see you try." Fenris did as he was asked, however, unbuckling his belt and peeling his leggings off. He strode to the water's edge, hesitating long enough for Celeste to get an eyeful of the elf's tattoos, winking in the sunlight along the elf's slender back. They swirled across his shoulders and down, painting arabesques in lyrium across his ribs and the small of his back, steering shy of the elf's buttocks and trailing down the outside of his thighs to wrap around his legs. She admired him for a moment, forgetting her anger at him in the face of the numbing masculine beauty of them both. He, too, dove in, surfacing a moment later next to sweep his longer hair out of his eyes.

Sebastian paddled around him, a lazy grin on his face as he rolled onto his back to float for a moment. She caught her breath, her thumbnail ragged in her teeth as she took in how calm he was. The old Sebastian had been conflicted, torn between duty and his love of the Maker; this Sebastian was almost carefree in his role as sovereign.

_It was where he was meant to be_, she thought. _He's been tempered and bent, put through the crucible to mold him to the role._

The thought was not unkind. She watched the play of light across his face, reflecting sunlight from the water burnishing him in gold. Years ago, she could have lost her heart to him, before she had lost her mind. Now, there was only the echo of an echo, a faint thrum where it should have been a roar. She was attracted to him, of that there was no doubt, but their lives had taken different roles now, and she could not be what he wanted.

Celeste turned her head as they paddled in the cooling arms of the river. She knew she should move before they decided to get out. She had stayed overlong as it was, and she was a terrible voyeur for waiting in the bushes instead of declaring herself. Shame colored her features for a moment as she judged the brush around the river. It was tall enough to hide her departure, if she crawled. She could make it through the archway with them none the wiser. She rolled her skirt up to her knees and waited for her chance.

Fenris dove underwater once more, Sebastian humming something under his breath as he splashed. She crept, careful of her skirts, out of the brush and past their discarded gear toward the archway. As soon as she made it around the concealing stone wall, she removed her slippers and padded away on bare feet.

She did not see the swatch of green fabric that had torn from the hem of her dress, left hanging on a branch like a traitorous flag.

* * *

Sebastian had heard the rustling in the bushes, but had paid it no heed until he realized it was timed to coincide with Fenris diving underwater. His interest piqued, he hummed a snatch of song to himself to keep up the charade; he made no mention of it to Fenris when the elf resurfaced, preferring to keep this a secret for now. Instead, he dove once more to finish his swim, resurfacing and shaking water out of his hair. He and Fenris climbed up onto the grassy bank together to dry in the sun-lit privacy the screen of brush afforded.

"Fenris," he said, reaching for one of his long knives. "The handle on this one is loose, I think. I can't tell if it's the wrappings or what. Can you take a look?"

Fenris grunted, taking the knife and turning it over in his calloused hands. There was a legitimate problem with the knife, and Sebastian knew it, but it just so happened to work to his advantage now. Sebastian rose and pulled on his trousers while Fenris was distracted, making a show of stamping into his boots by holding onto the wall. While he did, he scanned the bushes for signs of passage.

Aha. A strip of green cloth was caught on a branch that was bent away; the bark of the springy stem was broken, signifying it had been twisted upon exit. He finished with his boots, palming the cloth before coming back to squat next to Fenris. He liked a mystery, and though it might vex his friend and bodyguard, by the Maker he was going to keep this a secret until he discovered who it was. He didn't think the hidden guest had meant any trouble; if they had, Fenris and Sebastian would have been fighting for their lives already.

Fenris did not notice, rewrapping the leather grip of the knife. He passed it back, hilt first. "You'll need to have the smith look at it. It seems you've broken the tang. It needs reforging."

Sebastian nodded, sliding the knife back into the sheath and refastening his belt. "I'll have him take a look at it when we're done with those damnable trade agreements. I swear the merchants come up with loopholes just to test my patience."

Fenris smirked, pulling his leggings back on and refastening his own belt. "If they wanted to test your patience, they'd be trying to marry you to their daughters instead."

Sebastian scowled. "Don't remind me. Maker, I wish I could just be rid of the whole damned lot of them. Vicious harpies."

Fenris gave a dark chuckle. "You knew it was bound to come up sometime."

Sebastian forced fingers through his ruddy hair, giving it a rough comb. "I know. You can't guard me from everything, just blades in the dark."

"If I could protect you from zealous mothers with a lust for power, I would. Showing people their own hearts is considered bad manners here, however."

Sebastian laughed. "This is true."

They gathered their equipment, Sebastian tucking the swatch of green into his pouch for later contemplation. Perhaps this would distract him from that particular problem for a while. He was certain that the answer would show itself in due time. He was a patient man, and he could wait.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to the Sebastian Support Group on Facebook for helping and being a sounding board for dialogue. You ladies are a constant inspiration. :)

This was a long time in coming because of a mental block that finally broke earlier tonight. I have been toying with this for three days, and a couple of ideas bounced off of the lovely ladies I've had the pleasure of spending the last few weeks with has really helped. I'm sorry for the wait, Constant Readers. In the meantime, note that _Obeisance_ is about half written, and should go up soon. I've slowed down, but I promise to keep plugging away at these. As always, thank you for sticking with me.

~Lywinis

**Fun facts for this chapter:**

_Inter Spem Et Metum_ is Latin for 'between hope and fear'.

I own a dress much like what Celeste wears, down to the trim. :)


	6. Cadit Quaestio

Cadit Quaestio

* * *

Sebastian's boots echoed through the quiet hallways as he and Fenris made their way to the library, taking a roundabout route to put it off as long as possible. They had changed their clothes, Fenris simply swapping out his leathers for a new set. Sebastian went for comfort, a loose blue tunic belted at his waist and a fresh pair of trousers tucked into his boots.

These trade agreements were going to be the death of him, full of loopholes and legal jargon that had no bearing on the actual issue, which was the use of the docks to transport goods farther inland. Many of the merchants complained about the fees for landing their boats in Starkhaven, but most relented when they realized the money they could earn in the city.

This was not true for Rennault Meginard. A new merchant to the city, the man was of impeccable Orlesian pedigree, escaped from a faux pas at Celene's court several years ago. He hounded Sebastian on obscure laws night and day, obsessed with regaining his fortunes back as soon as possible. Sebastian had begun to loathe the sight of Rennault's close, neat handwriting in the missives on his desk. It meant a headache for the rest of his workday, and the missives were sometimes accompanied by the man himself, nasal and making the headache tenfold worse.

He could already feel the unwanted throb in his temples at the thought of dealing with his duties now, but he pushed it back and set his mind to the scrap of cloth that was still tucked into his belt pouch. He had taken it out to look at it closer while Fenris stepped into his room to change. The cloth was soft, and had a hint of ragged thread where stitching had been before it was torn. Perhaps a hem? His brow knit as he walked, deep in thought. They crossed through the dining hall, Sebastian oblivious to the bustle of the kitchen preparing the noon meal.

Fenris padded beside him in easy silence, his hair again drawn into a shoulder-length club at the nape of his neck. His eyes were in constant motion, studying their surroundings, ever alert. He was the reason Sebastian could submerge himself in thought as he walked, thumbs tucked in his belt next to the long knives sheathed there. Fenris had been a constant companion since the retaking of Starkhaven, and proved to be just as able as a bodyguard, more loyal than coin could purchase. The glint of white hair in Sebastian's peripheral vision was a constant comfort.

He entered doorways before the Prince, stepping aside after a moment when he was satisfied all was clear. It had become muscle memory now to stop before each door, and so it did not interrupt Sebastian's musings until Fenris held up a gauntleted hand. He realized they were about to cross the foyer of the castle, and the only reason Fenris would stop him is if they had visitors.

"You're not going to like this." His voice was pitched low, a rumble in his chest as he pressed himself against the door frame.

Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. "Let me guess, Lord Meginard?"

"The same." Fenris shook his head. "He's brought his daughter with him this time. He is going to try and distract you."

"With his daughter? The chit could be considered pretty, I suppose, but she's much too young." Sebastian shook his head, his headache growing worse. "I don't think I want to deal with this today."

"Then don't. Tell him to leave and finish your paperwork in peace."

"It's not as easy as all that, Fenris. Things are done a certain way in the nobility, otherwise they get offended and try to stage a coup. Starkhaven has had enough of those for a while, don't you think?"

There was a wry twist to Fenris's mouth. "If you are certain."

"If I don't talk to him now, they'll stand there all day." He could see the man in his mind's eye: gawky as a stork with thinning brown hair, his pale grey eyes sharp with avarice. His clothes would more than likely flap about him as he moved, no tailor ever managing to fit the man's odd proportions. The headache returned, pounding right behind his eyes.

He forced his shoulders straight and allowed Fenris to precede him into the foyer. He smoothed his features into a neutral expression as Rennault Meginard strode forward, an obsequious expression on his face as he bowed low before Sebastian.

"Your Highness," he said, raising his eyes after a moment. "Forgive the intrusion, but something has come to my attention about the conditions at the docks, and I simply had to speak with you on the matter."

Sebastian tried to maintain that neutral expression as he sorted through Meginard's thick accent. It was cloying, dripping with false good will, and entirely Orlesian. He knew that he shouldn't judge all Orlesians by one bad example, but Meginard was a spectacular bad example. Sebastian gave him a nod, acknowledging the bow, and folded his arms.

"What is so important that would cause you to come to me, Lord Meginard?" The color was high on the man's sallow face. It must be something grave; the unkind thought that it had better be or he was going to be angry crossed his mind.

"Well, Highness, it is a matter of the tariffs your taxmen charge to export goods. It's twice as high as exporting the same goods into Orlais – "

"Lord Meginard." Sebastian's voice was quiet, but the man stopped his sentence, his jaw snapping shut as soon as Sebastian spoke. "In case you are not aware, Orlais was not the center of a revolution three years ago, nor was it crippled by Goran Vael deciding to put several hundred acres of arable farmland to the torch when he realized that I was coming for him. The tariff is as high as it is to replenish the coffers without crushing the peasantry under the booted heels of a heavy tax. Would you rather I take food from the bellies of the poor?"

"They are only peasants, Your Highness." The casual statement of the sentence set his teeth to grinding. Meginard was the atypical noble man without ties. He saw commoners as a means to an end; without the Chantry, Sebastian might have held the same viewpoint. It was hard, however, to hold such a lofty opinion of oneself when one spent most of their time on their knees in prayer.

His lips thinned in displeasure, his eyes narrowing into slits as his tone turned icy. "Those same peasants raised pitchfork and scythe with me in the skirmishes for Starkhaven. Several of them I got to know by name. I fed them, clothed them, and protected their families. They are _my_ people, and they are the backbone of the principality. I'll not see them suffer so that those who can afford to pay a tax on goods those same peasants created can save some coin."

The tariffs had been a point of contention between the throne and the local merchant's guild for the past two years; Varric had even gotten involved at one point. The dwarf had taken one look at the set of Sebastian's jaw and the figures he had written on parchment and he had thrown up his hands at the guild master, calling him a brave soul for arguing. In the end, Sebastian's will won out. The threat of the removal of the guild in its entirety had earned him many enemies, but it had been for the greater good.

For two years, the city had prospered, exporting more grain with each passing year instead of putting the crops back into the bellies of the people. The razed fields had recovered, and this looked to be a good harvest year again. Maker willing, the treasury might be in the black again after all the grain he'd imported the first year to keep the city fed.

Meginard stuttered, confused as to Sebastian's change in mood and preference for common folk. "Your highness, I meant no disrespect – "

"Of course you did, you're simply backpedaling now that you know my view on the matter." One of Sebastian's dark eyebrows quirked without humor. "The tariff stays as it is. Was there anything else?"

The merchant was saved from answering by the creaking of the main door as it opened, admitting Celeste into the foyer. She stopped when she realized she had an audience, and fumbled for a curtsey as everyone turned towards her. She was wearing one of Penelope's dresses, the green of the underdress at once both suiting her complexion and triggering a niggling thought in his brain, something that tugged at the forefront through the headache.

"Your highness, my apologies. It seems I have gotten myself lost searching for the library, and blundered into a private conversation. Excuse me." She turned to go, and Sebastian caught sight of her bare ankles as she lifted her skirts to walk away – her left calf highlighted by a rip in the hem of her dress that he would swear matched the bit of fabric in his pouch.

The realization made him find his voice. "No, Lady Hawke, wait a moment. I would be happy to introduce you to Lord Meginard, recently come to Starkhaven from Orlais."

She paused, turning back. "I would not presume to intrude on your time, highness."

Under normal circumstances, he would have let her go. The tear in her dress and other signs, such as a faint dusting of dirt on the front of the surcoat where her knees would be had she been sitting on the ground convinced him that these were not normal circumstances. The thought of her sitting still and watching him in the river did not fill him with the violation of privacy that would have plagued him long ago; instead, he felt himself twitch at the thought, imagining her watching him with lustful eyes. He knew it was absurd, but the chance that it _was_ her spurred his next move.

"Think nothing of it, my lady. There is no intrusion – you are my guest, after all." His smile was gracious as he extended a hand to her. She re-entered the foyer, slow steps bringing her to his side. "Lord Meginard, let me introduce the Lady Hawke, recently back from travels abroad."

He turned back to Meginard, who was watching the whole spectacle with his too-sharp eyes. The noble's gaze was fixed on Celeste, and Sebastian felt a surge of possessiveness as Celeste offered her hand to him. Thin fingers brought her knuckles to his lips, a pale imitation of chivalry.

"Charmed." Meginard gestured behind him, and his daughter stepped forward. "May I present _ma fille_, my daughter, Colette."

Colette dropped into a deep curtsey, her eyes on Sebastian. He paid her no heed, watching Celeste. He wondered if she thought she had gotten away from the river scot-free. A slow smile spread across his face. He would find out soon enough.

* * *

Celeste bore the introductions with patience. No doubt Sebastian wanted witnesses to tell her brother that she had been here. Lord Meginard lingered over her hand before releasing her, smoothing his thinning brown hair over his head as he straightened. A tall man, he topped Sebastian by a couple of inches and tried to tower over her, but she had seen bigger things during her time in Kirkwall and her travels and was unphased. His colorless eyes never left her face as she turned to his daughter.

Colette Meginard had taken after her mother in looks, thank the Maker. A soft veil of platinum blonde hair fell in a plait down her back to her waist, her grey eyes large and luminous in her heart-shaped face. She was dressed in what had been the fashion in Orlais when Celeste had been there last, the rich blue velvet of her gown cut low to show the creamy swells of her breasts and bare her shoulders, swathed in what looked to be yards of lace.

Celeste shook her hand, the soft fingers under hers limp and uninterested. Colette was young, perhaps eighteen summers old, and Celeste nearly smiled as the girl's gaze returned to Sebastian. She wasn't surprised at the look the girl threw at Sebastian; he was a prince and unmarried, and any girl worth her skirts would be casting him that same look. If she were in Colette's place, she would, she knew. It didn't stop the surge of jealousy that erupted in her chest. She tamped it down, scolding it with the thought that she had no right to feel that way. She turned back to Sebastian, to find him watching her.

"Lady Hawke has just returned to the Free Marches after four years. I understand her rooms have a spectacular view of the river, so I can only assume she was entranced. I haven't been graced with her presence all morning." His smile was bland, his face neutral but for a hint of something wicked dancing in his eyes as he looked at her. She shot him a confused look, but her attention was captured by the visiting nobles before she could give his words more thought.

"Your dress is lovely, my lady," Colette said, bobbing her head. Her voice was soft, the accent rounding her vowels into a near slur. "I had heard it was the fashion in Orlais to revive older styles. Perhaps I should search the family home for something similar, although you wear it much better with your tall and slender figure, _non_?"

_And the first volley of polite barbs goes to Colette_, she thought. This was the type of nobility she had not missed in the slightest. However, she could play with the best of them. She resisted the urge to scowl at the girl, instead plastering a gracious smile on her face that bordered on simpering as she dipped in a curtsey to Sebastian.

"Oh, I have his highness to thank for providing me with such a lovely frock. My luggage was lost in an accident on the road. Prince Vael has been most kind, throwing wide his closets for me until the seamstresses can make me something more suitable. I am unworthy of such graciousness, but his highness does not forget his old friends, I am pleased to say."

It had the desired effect; Colette's eyes narrowed a fraction. Sebastian had inclined his head to her, understanding and enjoyment of the tete-a-tete between the women written plain on his face. She fluttered her hands against her throat for a moment, playing up the damsel in distress angle.

"I don't know what I would have done had the Starkhaven militia not saved me from the bandits when they did. The ruffians made off with my carriage, but my life and my honor are still mine. The kindness his highness has shown me has been heartening."

"I could do no less for the Champion of Kirkwall's beloved sister." Sebastian sketched a courtly bow, his bland smile quirking up in the corners to show his true amusement.

Their attention had been grabbed by his comment about Carver. Celeste said a few unkind things to Sebastian in her head, her smile still on her face. Colette turned her wide grey eyes to the mage again.

"You are the Champion Carver's sister? I thought that his sister died in the Blight in Ferelden?" She cocked her head to the side.

"His twin sister, yes." Celeste refused to let that old wound open now. Not here. Later. "I am his older sister."

"Ah, _je suis désolée_, for this mistake. I can tell that you two look alike, now. You have his strong jaw." A beatific smile crossed her features, and Celeste fought the anger that was welling up, keeping a tight rein on her magic. It would be all too easy to incinerate the girl, but beating her at her own game would be better.

"Yes, Carver and I are siblings. But enough about myself! My ego is not so big that I have not noticed your own lovely dress. Your seamstress is skilled, my lady. I have not seen such artful arrangement of décolletage since Antiva's king last appeared in public." Her smile became predatory as Colette's delicate nostrils flared. Scoring a hit was always a satisfying thing.

Sebastian sensed blood in the water and stepped in with a smooth redirection of the conversation back to Lord Meginard. "My apologies, my lord. It seems that my guest has completely driven the topic of our conversation from my mind."

Meginard bowed low. "It is of no concern, your highness. You had made your wishes known already before the lovely Lady Hawke arrived. I won't trouble you further on the matter. However, I would be delighted if the Lady Hawke could tell us more of her brother, the Champion."

"Perhaps later," Sebastian said. "I have yet to give Lady Hawke the full tour, as you can see. She has already gotten herself lost once looking for the library. Perhaps we shall take a walk in the gardens, so she can admire the…_view_ of the river some more. If there was nothing else, my Lord?"

Slow realization stole upon Celeste at the strange emphasis of his words. Confusion began to melt away at the lilt to Sebastian's voice as he mentioned the view of the river – _oh no. Maker, no._ He had seen her. Harsh spots of color flared high in her cheeks, her shame overridden by the anger at the sheer audacity of him to bring it up in front of strangers, even as obscure as the reference was. She bit her cheek to keep from belting him across the face; as close as he was, the temptation was nigh overwhelming.

Lord Meginard bowed low once again, over her wrist this time. "Then I should like to invite you to my home for a visit sometime, Serrah Hawke. I am but a poor entertainer at best, but I shall try to make my humble home accommodating for you."

"I should like that, my Lord. Perhaps in a few weeks, when I have my wardrobe replaced. I wouldn't want his highness to feel obligated to provide me with any more clothing."

"Nonsense, Lady Hawke. I would be happy to throw wide my closets for you once again." Sebastian smirked at her. She grit her teeth. "Feel free to _tear_ through them any time."

"Regardless, I will visit you soon, Lord Meginard." His lips brushed her knuckles again, leaving them feeling clammy and unclean as he straightened. Colette made another curtsey to Sebastian, her eyes raking his form in obvious want. Celeste gave her a syrupy smile and a curtsey to the both of them, noting with a smug inner smile as Colette's eyes narrowed again.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she spun on her heel, marching to the inner doors to put distance between herself and Sebastian.

"Oh, Celeste, don't you want to see the view of the river from the garden?" came the question, anything but innocent when said with that smirk and the heat in his eyes. She swallowed, the curl of desire that slid into her belly at his look making her weak in the knees.

She gathered the shreds of her dignity around her. "No, thank you, Your Highness. I find the view fell far short of my expectations."

It was a low blow, but his hearty laughter that followed her flight from the foyer proved that he had taken no offense. She almost wished he had. It would make her feel better, somehow.

* * *

He laughed himself to tears, holding his knees as he bent double, his genuine amusement at her riposte and subsequent flight making his ribs ache. Oh, she had caught on at the end, and how beautiful it was, the sight of her cheeks flaming in embarrassment! He was lucky she hadn't set him alight right there in front of the Maker and everyone, but the look on her face had been worth the risk. Fenris grunted next to him, his confusion at Sebastian's amusement palpable in the echoes of silence as Sebastian managed to contain his mirth.

"Oh, Blessed Andraste forgive me, but that was _fun_." He wiped at his streaming eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "I don't think I've ever seen her that flustered."

"What was that about?" Fenris was looking at him as if he'd gone mad. In a way, perhaps he had.

"Nothing to really be concerned with, Fenris. Just a play on words. I think she got the upper hand on me that time, though." He grinned at Fenris as they resumed their walk through the castle, heading for his study. Fenris could only shrug and follow, confused.

As he settled behind his desk and picked up the sheaf of documents he had yet to read, he realized that his headache had fled him.

_A good day, indeed_, he thought, settling in to finish the mound of missives before supper. _I'll have to thank her later._

* * *

A/N: Kind of a short chapter today, but incredibly relevant. Meet the Meginards! When I dropped their descriptions into Seb-chat on Facebook, there was much booing and hissing from a few short lines, and so we meet one of the noble families of Starkhaven. More to come, although I should update _Obeisance_ before I return to this one. Naughty!Sebastian is so much fun to write, though. As always, thanks for reading!

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts for the chapter:**

_Cadit Quaestio _means a 'poorly posed question' in informal logic. If you think about it, it's true!

Meginard is pronounced May-gin-AR, with a silent d on the end. If you were curious, that is.

(I also had way too much fun with this chapter, not even going to lie. Thanks to Illusionary Ennui for helping me to not butcher my French/Orlesian.)


	7. Lapsus Linguae

Lapsus Linguae

* * *

The pigeon was bedraggled, its feathers in a sorry state as it hopped onto Varric's windowsill. A spring storm had blown into Kirkwall on a squall, and the valiant little thing had made its way to the Hanged Man in the pouring rain that still drummed on the roofs around him. The dwarf shook his head at the poor bird's state and unrolled the bit of parchment tied to the animal's leg. It was no more than a scrap of paper the length of his index finger, but the scant few lines of script sent his sandy eyebrows into his hairline.

_I found her. Hawke is here. Staying the fortnight. -Sebastian_

He tucked the pigeon into his carrier, the bird's feathers ruffling in annoyance as he closed the lid on the poor soaked thing. Feathers fluffed, the bird would dry just fine. Besides, he needed to get a note to Carver. He poured himself a measure of strong Antivan brandy, knocking back the shot as he sat down to script a note to the Champion of Kirkwall. If he knew Carver, he'd need that shot to fortify him for what was to come, even if it was the middle of the morning.

* * *

Carver stamped into the tavern close to an hour after Varric sent his runner. The Champion wasn't happy with the curt note, but it had gotten his attention. Muscular arms folded, he leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows drawn down into a scowl as he surveyed the room that Varric had called his own for nigh unto two decades now.

Varric was sitting opposite him, scribbling in one of his ledgers with the manic haste he affected right before one of Carver's mercenary jobs took him out of the city. He looked to be getting as much work done as possible before leaving – which meant that there was something up. Carver handled bad news well, but the silence in the room as Varric added columns with the quick scratching of his quill was trying his patience.

"_Varric_," he said, his voice betraying his exasperation. Varric looked up, the spectacles perched on the end of his nose somehow not making him appear ridiculous. Carver fixed him with a look.

"Sorry, just trying to get as much done as I can today."

"You could have told me what you wanted in a letter, Varric."

"Not this, Junior, not this." Carver's scowl darkened. Varric hadn't called him Junior in years; the start of the old habit wasn't reassuring. It reminded him too much of old feelings of inadequacy. Varric held the paper out to him, and he glanced at it, his eyebrows rising like Varric's had.

"My sister? Surely Vael has sent enough of these missives to make you think him mad by now. What was the last thing he said to us, the last time we hared out there because he said he'd found a lead?"

"That we were less than a week from her camp, when all it turned out to be was unbroken forest. Look, he stopped writing two years ago, aside from the odd letter updating me on how Starkhaven's trade negotiations are going. He hasn't used the pigeons in longer than I can remember. He either thinks he really has her, or he's entertaining an Antivan Crow in _really_ good makeup. We should at least go and debunk the rumor."

Carver sighed, running a hand through his coarse black hair. He hadn't shaved yet today, and there were the beginnings of a scruffy beard lacing his cheeks. A sullen look crossed his face, but he rose, his harness jingling with the movement.

"I've gotten this far trusting your judgment, Varric. If you think we should go, then we'll go. I'll saddle the horses and make the arrangements." He was agreeing far too easy, he knew, but the nobles who kept inviting him to parties were beginning to get more adamant he make an appearance, and he would rather lop off a leg than spend his time with the noble families of Kirkwall vying for his attention.

"Oh, hell no. No horseback riding. I've got a coach booked. It's more comfortable."

"You're such a baby. Saddle sores are a rite of passage."

Varric scowled. "Sod your rite of passage. You don't keep me around for my horsemanship."

Carver gave a tiny smile. This was true. He kept Varric around for his contacts and his impeccable business sense. "Aveline?"

"She can't take a day off, much less the ten-day it takes to travel to Starkhaven. Even with Donnic, she's swamped."

Carver nodded. "Just us, then."

"Seems fair. We'll see if she's the real deal, and we won't have to bother anyone else if it's a fluke." Varric gave an eloquent shrug. "At best, he HAS found her. At worst, we take advantage of his fine wines and food for a few days as an apology for him dragging us out there."

"All right. We leave at noontide?"

"Sure, Junior." Varric pulled out parchment, scribbling a note. A high-pitched whistle through the dwarf's teeth brought a lad running; another of the urchins Varric was hiring and pulling from the streets, Carver saw. Better to work for a scoundrel who'd feed you than the Coterie, Varric had always said. The boy was sent on his errand, and Varric began throwing clothes into a pack after arranging their meeting place. He waved an absent hand at Carver's farewell.

Carver made his way down the stairs, his stomach giving a lurch as he hit the main floor of the Hanged Man. This lurch was familiar; one he knew well. The hope that his sister, his Ceelee, was still alive had died with the Staff of Parthalan found driven into the soft earth of the cairn on Sundermount. Sebastian had taken the staff; Carver hadn't wanted to touch it, knowing that his hands would taint it, like he'd tainted everything else.

His last words to Ceelee had been angry. He'd stormed into the estate in the aftermath of that bloody night after Gamlen's visit, yelling himself hoarse and throwing accusations. She hadn't met him with the fire he was used to; instead she sat there and just took it, still as a statue and just as pale. He'd dredged up years of bile and flung it at her, hoping she would yell back at him and cauterize his own shame at not being able to protect his mother. He'd heaped the blame onto her shoulders, and she had sat, silent, and accepted the burden.

He and his elder sister had always been at odds, their personalities clashing as siblings did. He was brash, going off half-cocked at the slightest provocation. Ceelee had been calm, radiating a sense of calculation that had infuriated him. Bethany had been the mediating force between them, her sunny disposition stopping the fights before they escalated. She had bound them together with love, and her death had driven a wedge between them that had never healed.

Carver still felt as if Bethany's death left him half a person. His twin had been a part of him, inside and out, and he'd never truly gotten over her death. He woke sometimes with a hand reaching across what would have been their shared bed back in Lothering, only to find himself alone.

Ceelee hadn't understood, but she'd loved Bethany as well. It was impossible not to love his twin sister. The pain of Bethany's death was etched on to both of them in different ways, but it had festered in Carver. He'd taken it out on her, and now she was gone too. His only family now was Gamlen, and he would sooner put the blunt edge of Hayder's Razor against his uncle's skull than speak to the sot.

He waved off Norah as she passed him, drinks in hand. She looked disappointed, her pout washing away from his thoughts as he moved past her and the Hanged Man's early morning crowd into the soggy streets of Lowtown, toward the winding stairs that led upward to home.

He needed to pack for a month out on the road. His hands clenched, the knuckles cracking without him being aware of it, sending several beggars into hiding as he walked past, his plate and harness clanking. His anger was almost palpable as he passed streaming gutters and clattered up the steps to Hightown.

Maker help Sebastian if he'd finally let his obsession with finding Ceelee consume him. The blocky, strong script that Sebastian favored didn't show any sign of madness; it had seemed as strong as ever. Perhaps he _had_ found her. Carver didn't admit it often, but in this case, he would be glad to be proven wrong.

Carver couldn't help the small spark of hope that lit in his chest, outstripping the fear and nausea that had roiled within him when he had seen the note, quickening his step to the estate.

* * *

Celeste fled, escaping his good-natured laughter as fast as she could, her face burning. Why hadn't she simply made herself known? It would make things a lot easier to handle. The plans she had made to stay went out the window as she cast her eyes to the ceiling. She had wanted to sink into the floor, her mortification total. She somehow made it back to her room, shutting the door and pressing her back to it. If she had her way, she would never leave the room again, hiding in here until her fortnight was over.

He would probably come and drag her out. The thought didn't reassure her.

Her pack stood by the door, emptied of her clothing and supplies. She would have to scavenge more food, and she would have to find a maid that was near to her size and steal some clothing. She would leave the clothes she wore now folded for Alice with a note of apology. The poor woman did enough as it was without Celeste making unnecessary work. She knew she was bolting; this was really for the best, for everyone involved.

Cambert padded over to her from where he'd been napping by the fire. His stubby tail whipped back and forth, carrying his hind end with it as he greeted his mistress. Her heart clenched at the sight of the grey around his muzzle. He was getting older, and she knew that he would not be up for the strenuous trip to the Anderfels.

"Oh, lad, I'm afraid I can't take you with me this time." She knelt and took the hound's great head between her palms, rubbing behind his ears. "I don't think you'd make the trip."

Cambert gave a whine, stretching his neck to wash her face with his tongue. She hugged his muscular neck, his tail giving another wag. He pressed against her, comforting and warm, and she gave a ragged sigh.

Maker, but she was tired of running. She stroked her Mabari's fur in absent circles, the solid muscle of his side pressed against her as she leaned back against the door.

"What d'you think, Cambert?" she asked. He gave a conversational chuff, his ears perked forward. "I can't face him again."

Another chuff. "I know, he didn't seem angry, but I can't look him in the face. If you had done what I had done, you wouldn't be able to look him in the eye either."

He butted his head against her, nearly pushing her over. She gave a small laugh and stood, wending her way through the room to the washbasin. She poured a measure of the water and splashed her face, trying to calm the burning in her cheeks. She took a deep breath, letting it out slow and easy as she tried to recover some of her composure.

The logical thing to do would be to apologize to him. Sebastian was a rational man; he was far from unkind as well. He'd accept her apology and she could be on her way in the morning. No more harm done, and she'd be out of his hair. Yes, this was the best solution, instead of running like a thief. He'd have no reason to chase her down like this.

A scratch at the door broke her from her musings. She opened it to find Alice standing there, a selection of garments draped over one arm. She was smiling, and Celeste let her in the room without a second thought.

The older woman bustled in, laying the clothing on the chair and scratching Cambert behind the ears. The lout was disgusting; he made a point of eating up the attention as Alice cooed over him for a moment before shooing him out, telling him that Cook had something tasty for him. With a bark, Cambert was gone and Alice shut the door behind him.

"Such a good boy," she said.

"That's just the side he shows when he knows he's going to get food. The glutton will do anything for pork bits." Celeste smiled, gesturing at the pile of clothing. "What's all this about?"

"You haven't heard?" Alice cocked her head to the side as she began sorting out different outfits. "Himself has asked me to find you something suitable for dinner. He's having cook prepare a private tray for you both in the western solar."

She fought the panic that welled up, the urge to flee almost overwhelming, taking a tiny step forward. "He has?"

"Oh, yes, my lady. Came to me special he did. Himself seems to have taken a shine to you." Alice gave a knowing smile. "Better you than one of those puffed up noble girls."

"Oh, Alice." The maid's enthusiasm was distressing, but Celeste was determined to set her straight. "His highness is just an old friend of mine, nothing more. I enjoy his company."

"And Himself enjoys your company, too. He's never invited anyone to stay at the castle, save his friends from before. No balls for young ladies to dance at, no formal courts held in the throne room here; it's upsetting it is, that Himself pays more attention to the merchants than to producing a little 'un to come after him." Alice shook her head, clucking in that manner she had.

"Perhaps he hasn't found a suitable bride yet." This was not the conversation she wanted to be having right now. Alice held up a gown to Celeste's body, comparing something. The gown was discarded a moment later, the clucking of Alice's tongue following it to a separate chair. "Alice, this is just supper, and there are several hours yet to go before the evening meal."

Alice smiled. "Then you'll want the time to prepare, your ladyship. Himself is picky about his company, and you wouldn't want to offend."

Celeste had seen the glint in the maid's eye before – Bethany had looked much the same in pursuit of a book from father's library that Celeste had been reading. It was better to let the storm blow over and pick up the pieces when it was done. She sighed and looked at the gowns.

All of them seemed to be new; her eyebrows shot upward as she realized that Alice must have been hounding the seamstresses since she had taken her measurements earlier. There were five dresses, including the one that Alice had just discarded, a muted grey dress that was clean lines and simple draping. The next one was a golden yellow, a color that would look sickly on most women but set her skin aglow. Her ruddy hair would be lustrous and sleek in such a gown, she knew. This one was also set aside, in favor of a simple rust-colored gown, the slender lines of the garment broken by a bodice of black silk. Ivory sleeves drew attention to her shoulders and bared the line of her throat to view.

Alice nodded in decision, hanging the other gowns up and producing a pair of sturdy black leather shoes that would serve well for any of the garments. She spread another shift out on the bed, along with the gown. Turning to Celeste, she gave a smile and patted her cheek.

"Don't look so glum, your ladyship. Supper with Himself won't be nearly as bad as you seem to make it out. He'll not bite."

She flushed at the thought of Sebastian biting. That was a bad and inappropriate train of thought. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm being silly about this."

"It's quite all right, your ladyship. Shall I have the lads draw you a bath? You seem to have been enjoying the gardens, from the look of your skirts." Celeste flushed again, giving a mute nod to avoid the ashamed squeak that would surely pop from her mouth if she opened it to answer. "Now, now. No need to worry about that rip in the back, either. I'll have that fixed in a trice."

Rip in the back? She twisted around, trying to see, and found it after a moment, a tear in the hem about as long as her thumb missing a swatch of cloth. So that's how he'd found out. She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at her own stupidity. It had, after all, gotten her into this mess in the first place.

"Yes, a bath would be nice." She would play nice for the night, no matter how infuriating he got; she deserved every ounce of his scorn for playing the peeping tom. She was sure she was about to combust from her mortification, but she would bear it for one more night, and then she would be off and away from Arrow's Rest. Surely Sebastian would allow her out of her bargain.

* * *

She looked at herself in the mirror some hours later, her hair dry and her new dress pulled over her head. Her fingers felt slow and clumsy as she tied the red ribbon that would hold her bodice closed. She liked Sebastian, she did, but the thought of being taken to task in private by this new man, the one she didn't know how to read, sent a shiver of trepidation down her spine. Still, she would not balk.

She forwent the powders and paints that noble women favored, instead pinching her cheeks and then nibbling her lips to bring some color to them. She would be all right. He would be angry with her, and she deserved it. She would endure it, and then she would be free. She smoothed her dress once more with nervous fingers before she made her way to the western solar.

It was a close thing to keep from bolting as soon as she knocked on the door. Instead, she took a shaky breath and forced her spine straight as the door opened, revealing Sebastian in the doorway. The prince of Starkhaven cut a fine figure in a pair of woolen trews with a leather inset tucked into knee high boots and a white fencer's shirt open at the throat, revealing a stretch of bare collarbone. He gave her an indolent smile and took her hand, pressing warm lips to her knuckles before ushering her inside.

He shut the door behind her, and then she was alone with him. Not even Fenris was there to glower at her from a corner, though she didn't doubt he was nearby. She took a calming breath. It was just Sebastian, he wouldn't hurt her.

He was entirely too close for comfort, however. She stepped away from him, towards the table. A low chuckle sounded from behind her, but he said nothing, only pulled out a seat for her and settling her at the table. The polished oak table was small; an intimate setting for two, and it didn't ease her nervousness.

_Be polite, be apologetic, and concentrate on the food._ She stiffened her spine.

To cover her discomfort, she glanced around the room, noting the lived-in look that the rest of the castle didn't seem to have. A few couches littered the room, along with some book cases, papers strewn here and there as if he'd only just laid them down. This was his sanctuary from the world, it seemed. A fire was burning in the grate, and it cast the room in a warm glow as she accepted a goblet of wine from him, taking a small sip.

He seated himself, lacing his fingers across his stomach as he regarded her from under half-closed lids. She resisted the urge to fidget, instead meeting his gaze, noting how he'd lost some of the baby fat from the time she'd known him in Kirkwall. He had matured in four years, the weight of responsibility chiseling his face and giving it a more defined look. It was not a bad change, making him more pleasant to look at, if that were possible.

She looked away first, glancing down into the red depths of the goblet she still held. She took a breath, then opened her mouth, assured she was about to put her foot there, but needing to speak anyway.

"About this morning," she said. He raised an eyebrow, silent. "I want to apologize. I should have made myself known before you began sparring."

A smirk curled onto his face, rife with promise. She looked away again, aware that her flaming face was not the product of the wine she'd drunk. She busied herself with her goblet, raising it to her lips to drain half the liquid in a draught.

"And yet you didn't. Why?"

"Because I didn't think you'd go starkers in the river." Her voice was curt, and she forced a civil tongue in her mouth. It was more her embarrassment that made her snap, but the smug look on his face wasn't helping matters.

He gave a low chuckle. "Well, I didn't think there'd be anyone peeping at me from the bushes."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry for saying what I did in the foyer. That was uncalled for."

"Oh? About what?"

Was he really going to press the issue? She looked up and met his eyes. The smirk remained, and the glint in his blue eyes was unmistakable. He was. She swallowed.

"About the…view. Being unsatisfactory. It was the opposite." She snapped her jaw shut, her face flaming.

His smirk widened. Damn him, he was going to make this as awkward as possible for her, wasn't he?

"Your apology isn't necessary. Really, I should thank you. I haven't laughed like that in quite some time," he said, waving a hand and sitting up. He began removing the covers from the dishes, revealing their meal as he spoke. Roasted chicken, boiled spring potatoes and other new vegetables, fresh from the castle kitchen's garden, she guessed. Fresh bread and what looked to be a savory pie completed the spread.

Her stomach growled, and she shushed it as he began serving them. It was simple fare, but in enough quantity to feed four of them, much less two of them. She was glad to see he still appreciated the value of plain food. It was a sign to her that his crown hadn't changed him as much as she thought. A little bit of everything went onto her plate, including a slice of the pie. She sniffed in appreciation before tucking into the chicken.

Silence reigned, becoming less awkward conversation over time as they ate. She stole glances at him from time to time, noting that he seemed more interested in the food than in her. She was grateful to the Maker for small mercies, finishing up a last bite of potato before sitting back with a small sigh. The wine had given her a pleasant buzz, but she hadn't accepted the offer of more, wanting to keep a clear head for what was to come.

"I do have to thank you," he said, taking a sip from his goblet as he sat back. "I had a headache before from the thought of having to deal with Meginard. When I went back to my paperwork, it had gone."

Her lips twisted. "There are easier ways to get rid of a headache than humiliating me in front of someone I've just met."

"I never meant to wound anything but your pride." A contrite expression washed across his face at her sullen tone. She shifted in her chair, uncomfortable under the weight of his easy apology.

"Consider it mended then, if you let me pack up and leave on the morning." It popped out, sudden and hollow, left hanging in the air. She fell silent, twisting her hands in her lap under the table.

"Ah." His face closed down, becoming inscrutable almost in a blink. "I didn't realize you were so offended."

"I –" She faltered. "It's not that."

"Then why? You promised me a fortnight. Do you break your promises so easily now?" His eyebrow quirked again, and somehow, even greater shame washed over her. "Perhaps you should stick to our bargain, in light of the incident in the bushes."

"I think you've quite gotten your payback for that, thank you." She scowled at him. His smirk didn't return, and she worried that he was angry in truth. "It's not that I'm offended. You have every right to be, however. I shouldn't have taken advantage of your kindness like that, and I should leave."

"I said there was no need to apologize, and I'm not running you off." He rubbed his forehead. "I think I could use one of your alternate headache remedies, because this is getting ridiculous."

She put down her goblet, sighing. Against her better judgment, she rose and circled the table to stand behind him. Sebastian had gone very still at her approach, freezing in his chair. She slid tentative fingers through his hair, coming to rest right behind his ears on the pressure points there. He made a small sound as she pressed her fingertips against his skull, moving in a circular motion.

"You have to press here and rub gently, and most headaches will go away," she said. Her voice was quiet and clinical, a small wisp of her magic escaping and curling to his temples to aid the massage. "It takes a little time, but it beats suffering through it."

There was a noise that sounded like a groan from beneath her hands, and his head tipped forward at the contact. She gave an involuntary smile at the sound. Were he a cat, he'd be purring.

"What if this doesn't help?" he asked. He rolled his shoulders, relaxing.

"There are other pressure points." Her hands slid from behind his ears to the back of his neck, working the tense, bunched muscles into slackness as she pressed her fingertips against a point at the base of his skull. She tipped her head to the side as she worked so she could see his profile. A smile played on the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were closed. She stroked her thumbs from the nape of his neck to the base of his skull. He sighed, relaxing further.

"Better?"

"Mm." She took that as assent and stepped back.

He caught her hand before she could escape. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as he stood, his hand warm on hers as he moved closer.

"I don't want you to leave because I'm insulted. I'm trying to convince you to stay." His head dipped towards hers, and before she could protest, he slanted his lips across her own.

* * *

A/N: I am a terrible tease for leaving you with such a cliffhanger. I'd say I'm ashamed of myself, but lying is a sin. We've seen some more wheels set in motion now, as well as something that's going to have to be resolved next chapter, although you might want to throttle me for it. As always, thanks for reading!

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this chapter:**

_Lapsus Linguae_ is 'a slip of the tongue'.

You totally just read about Celeste enjoying a Starkhaven delicacy, fish and egg pie. *grins*


	8. Memento Vivere

Memento Vivere

* * *

He tasted her, her honeysuckle scent overwhelming him in a single moment. He had moved too fast, and this was the last thing he would ever say to her. He was trying to be as eloquent as possible, nipping at her lower lip for entry. To his surprise, she granted it, the hands against his chest trembling as she opened her mouth, a small sigh escaping only to be swallowed by his own groan as he cupped the back of her head and drank deep.

He had lain awake for long nights at the Chantry, praying for Andraste to rid him of this temptation. Now, free of his vows, he gave in to it, holding her to him. Small breathy sips of air were not enough after a time, and he released her mouth, pressing her to his chest. His heart thundered in his chest and he expected her to tense and run, to slap him, to incinerate him where he stood.

Instead, she was silent. He risked a glance down at the woman in his arms. A hand rose to touch her lips, bruised from his kiss, and her eyes slid closed.

"Why did you have to make this so hard?" She said. Her voice was a whisper over the crackling flames.

"You were talking about leaving. How would you have me react? Clap you in irons?" His smile was smooth, betraying nothing of the unease that still lurked behind his confident facade. He tilted her head up with calloused, square-tipped fingers under her chin. "Celeste, I could not, even if I were angry. You've taken hold of something inside me. If I were a lesser man, I would accuse you of blood magic."

Her smile was soft. "Perhaps it is."

"Then so be it, maleficar. I submit." He kissed her again, rough against her mouth this time. She responded, her hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair. The tug she gave made a growl rumble up in his chest as he took her hip in one hand, the other in the small of her back as he pressed himself against her in possession. She stepped backward, and he retained enough of his mind to steer her toward one of the couches scattered through the solar, pressing her down upon it. His hands wanted to be everywhere at once, but he was not the rakehell he had been; he stopped, his breathing harsh in his ears as he knelt in front of her.

"Celeste," he said, the words coming after a moment of silent regard. "Stay with me."

She hesitated. "I can't."

"Will you explain to me why? If there's some kind of trouble -"

She shook her head. "It hurts too much."

He took her fingers and kissed them. The look that she gave him was so broken and filled with longing that it almost unmanned him. He pressed his lips to her fingertips over and over, hoping that the repetitive assurance of his feelings would convince her.

"I can give you one night, Sebastian. Then you have to let me go. I can't stay here any longer."

One night would never be enough; it would be too much. He pressed his cheek into the palm of her upraised hand, and was rewarded with the pressure of her fingertips against his jaw.

"You can't live like this, Celeste. Let me help you."

"There's nothing to help. It's been so long - but it's hard for me to explain, especially in light of...things."

"Start at the beginning." He sat back on his heels, eyes searching her face. "I have not completely forgotten my time at the Chantry. I will listen."

Pale and drawn, she rubbed at her eyes and sighed. A shuddering breath racked her body, her shoulders trembling as she let it free again.

"Grief is a terrible thing. I threw myself overboard any way I could to dull the ache of Mama's passing. I spent nights in taverns, swilling down liquid so foul even the Hanged Man wouldn't serve it. When drinking didn't help, I turned to gambling. That's how I got this." She gestured to her nose, the slight crook indicating a past break. "He didn't think I was playing fairly."

Sebastian's hands twitched, and he refrained from asking the bastard's name. He laid his palms across her knees, his thumbs making idle tracks along the soft skin on the inside of her leg. She looked at him, impassive.

"Gambling didn't help. So I turned to sex." Here she paused and glanced at him, but he was careful to keep his face neutral. "I turned into a heartless version of Isabela. I searched out a new partner each night, someone new to fuck and run. It didn't work either. By that time, I had made it to Antiva, and had run out of money."

She sighed. "I never caught anything, and in hindsight, the chances of that in the places I was in was astronomical. The Maker has a sense of humor, it seems. You would think a case of the scratch would be the best thing for me, knock some sense into me. No, I ran out of money in Antiva City, and I lay in a ditch, drying out for the first time in years. It was not a pleasant experience, to say the least."

It was a hard truth. As difficult as hearing it was, Sebastian had been there himself; when his grandfather had died, he had gone near feral with grief, turning to brothels to assuage the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, searching for the words. When the blithe guidance of the Chantry failed him, he looked up to see her watching him. Her hand reached out, tentative in its movement, until it touched his face. Her fingertips traced a line down his jaw, rubbing against the stubble that was starting there.

"I can give you one night. I'm no good for anything else. Consider it payment for your kindness, or the memory of what I once felt." She paused, searching his face. "Perhaps in another life, we could have been happy."

"Bullshit." His epithet startled her. She sat back, air hissing through her teeth in surprise. "You're still running. Offering everything you have in order to get away. This is no way to live."

"What would you have me do?" She shook her head at the anger that crossed his features. "I can't stay here."

"I say you can. No one told you how to live with your grief. No one told you how to fill that hole with love, with family and friends and joy, because everyone else was too busy with their own petty problems, even me. For that, I am sorry." He turned his head to place a kiss in the center of her palm. "I have been where you are. I spent a year of my life drunk, never stopping to sober up long enough to let the pain get to me. I had to learn this the hard way. Everyone does."

She shook her head. "It's a little late, I think."

"It's never too late to remember that you have to live." He shifted off of his heels onto his knees as he leaned toward her. His lips captured hers again, pressing her into the couch as he placed small, tender kisses against her mouth. She softened beneath him, becoming pliant as his lips moved to her cheek and then her jaw, nipping with gentle teeth at the pulse point in her neck. "Let me show you."

His palms slid up her legs, parting them so he could settle between her knees. Her eyes fluttered shut as he gave rather than demanded, pressing kisses to her bared shoulders. The skin there was dusted with freckles, and he explored each one, lazy in his appreciation. When he came to the juncture of her throat and shoulder, her knees tightened as he nibbled at the muscle there. He rumbled approval as he paid great care to the spot, his hands resting against her sides.

A breathy sigh escaped her as he nipped, and he chanced a gentle bite, causing the gasp to raise an octave. He soothed the reddening bite with his tongue, nuzzling into the warmth of her flesh. He took his time, working his way back to her mouth again to be greeted with the sight of hooded eyes and her lower lip ensconced between her teeth as she looked at him. It pleased him, that look; he would wager that none of the men she had taken to bed for escape ever got to see that look.

"Stay with me." He pressed another kiss to her lips when she opened her mouth to argue. She sighed against his mouth, her fingers sliding into his hair and tugging again, earning her a growl.

"Sebastian -"

"Shh. Stay with me." He pulled back to stand, holding his hand out to her.

To his delight, she placed her smaller hand in his. He tugged her up, pulling her against him and held her there for a moment. Her eyes were frightened, but he pushed her mussed bangs out of her eyes, pressing his lips to her forehead. She relaxed against him then, one arm circling behind his back to squeeze his waist. She nodded at last, another shuddering breath racking her frame.

He led her to a side door, the oak heavy against his fingers as they entered the back passages of the castle, the ones reserved for him. The hallway connected with his rooms, and he tugged her down it now, heady with his success and the lingering taste of her mingled with the wine. His room had already been prepared for the night. A fire blazed in the hearth, warding off the chill of the spring night, and the blankets of the bed had been turned down.

He paused in the middle of the room. She had not let go of his hand, and he pulled her into his arms again. The unease was still there, but he kissed the worry line between her brows until he felt it smooth against his lips. He let go of her for a moment, turning his back to close and latch the door.

Her hands were fisted at her sides, and she was wooden, no longer pliant in the reality of the room with the locks thrown. He resisted the urge to sigh at the step backward, instead moving to her to place his hands on her shoulders.

"There aren't any words for a time like this," he said. She nodded, her teeth worrying her lip again. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "But know that I want you here, and not just for a single night."

He held her to him, her body stiff with the initial contact as he ran soothing hands down her back. He kissed her again, and she responded at last, melding her body to his as he made to pull away. She twined her hands in his shirt, pulling the fabric taut as she tugged on it. He smirked and obliged her, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side. Her palms swept the breadth of his chest, tickling the coppery hair that curled there before moving down, brushing past his flat nipples, making him hiss in a breath. She paused, a glint of wickedness in her eyes as she traced a finger around the sensitive skin. Her other hand followed the thin line of hair that disappeared into the trousers that sat snug on his hips.

He caught her hand, pulling it away from his stomach. She gave a slow smile as she dipped her head, her warm breath causing the skin to pebble into goose bumps. He almost came undone when he saw the flicker of her pink tongue dart from between her lips and press against him in a languid stroke. His breath became uneven, and his eyes were wide as she did it again, causing him to hiss as she scraped gently with her teeth.

She smiled, pulling away and reaching for the ties to her bodice. He stopped her, his own fingers brushing the red ribbon that held the dress closed.

"Let me. I want to look at you." She swallowed, but nodded after a moment, stepping towards the fire so that the light fell on her with more clarity. He rested his hand on her hip, the other brushing the hair out of her eyes again. He undid the ribbon with care, his touch slow and deliberate as he watched her face in the firelight. She ran the gamut of emotion, her expressions flickering between doubt and want.

The silk ribbon finally slid free of the loops in the bodice, and he let it flutter to the floor as he ran tentative fingers under the neckline. His fingers brushed the warm skin of her breasts, raising goose bumps of his own as he loosened the garment, pulling it over her head with gentle coaxing. He paused, taking in the pale expanse of skin that was revealed, his breath catching. He wasn't sure if he were dreaming or not, but he bent to her collarbone and pressed a kiss to the hollow that formed there.

She was still too thin from her life on the run; he could feel her ribs as he swept his palms down her sides, loosening the laces of her dress as he went. He was determined to fix that, however, and it didn't bother him. Instead, he pushed the dress off her shoulders, watching it pool at her feet in a glorious pile of rust-red velvet. She stepped out of it, shivering a little as she brought her hands to cover her breasts. He stopped her, holding her hands to the side as he took her in, clothed only in a thin scrap of cloth that could hardly be called smallclothes and a pair of black leather shoes.

Sebastian knelt before her, his palms running down the back of her bare thighs to caress her calves before undoing the buckles of her shoes and lifting her feet one after the other, removing them. She was watching him, her expression strange and vulnerable as he placed her bare foot back on the floor. He brought his hands back up her calves, rubbing in a slow soothing motion as he allowed a smug smirk to wash across his face.

"This needs a better setting, I think. Perhaps a secluded part of the river, where you could bathe without anyone seeing you or so you thought…" He was rewarded with a scowl and a full-body blush, Celeste pinking from her cheeks to the tips of her toes. He laughed, a rumble in his chest, and squeezed one of her calves in appreciation before standing to take her in his arms again. Another slow kiss brought his body flush against her, and she pressed her hips to his in retaliation.

He growled, nipping her neck as he ran his palms down her bare sides to rest them against her hips. The ties to her smalls loosened with a touch, and they fell away, exposing the vee of curls below. His fingers brushed her, finding her already wet and aching, and he smiled against her throat as she slid her legs apart a fraction to allow him access. Even as he was taking his time with it, she had other ideas, loosening his belt to get at the laces of his trews. Her breath was hot against his ear, and as he slipped a single finger past her folds, her palm slid down his front, stroking him through his trousers and making him lose his concentration.

She pushed him away from her then, and tilted her head towards the bed at his questioning look. He saw the lust that darkened her eyes, and knew it to be for him. Something possessive coiled in him at that; that look was for him, and Maker help them both, it would be for him alone from now on. He tugged on his boots, leaning to pull them off as he paused beside the bed.

Her hands at his hips caused a jolt of arousal to run through him as she slid her fingers under the line of his pants, shifting them off his hips and brushing the pads of her warm fingers against his flank. She slid his trousers off, freeing him as she stood behind him, and she feathered kisses against his back as she took him in hand, her other palm sliding up his stomach so she could press against him. His length throbbed at her touch, an acute slice of pleasure as her soft fingers slid up, circling the head before releasing him and turning him to press him back onto the bed.

Sebastian was more than happy to go, sliding up so that he was propped against the pillows while lying on his back. He put his hands behind his head as she stood at the foot of the bed, unconcerned with his nakedness. She bit her thumbnail as she looked at him, and he gave a low chuckle.

"Enjoying the view?" His smirk spoke volumes as he lounged, legs crossed at the ankle.

Her answering smile was predatory, and he twitched when she ran blunted nails up the inside of his thigh, past the juncture of curling hair to brush just past his aching length. "I didn't get a chance to appreciate it from the front before."

"Sweetling, you are more than welcome to appreciate me for as long as you like."

She didn't answer, but climbed atop the bed, the tick shifting as she straddled his legs, crawling upward. Her body brushed against him and his smirk died, replaced with a quiet groan and a hungry look as she settled herself above him, balanced with a knee on either side of his tautening stomach muscles. He brought his hands from behind his head as she paused there, running his thumbs along her stomach as he gripped her hips, cementing the moment in his mind.

She was poised above him, taking his length in hand as she guided him to her entrance and its glorious heat. She sank down onto him, aided by the involuntary stutter of his hips as she enveloped him in a single fluid motion. If he growled before, the sound he made now could be called a dull roar as she shifted, her slick heat making him want nothing more than to remain buried within her. She leaned back, her face flushed with the sensation, and he swore he saw stars as she gyrated her hips in a slow circle. He panted, his breath coming in a gasp as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his sternum before leaning over and flicking his nipple again with her wicked tongue.

He retaliated with a slow thrust, his hands guiding her hips down his length as he arched up into her center. One of his hands skimmed between them as he moved, seeking her nub and sending her jerking forward, making him roll his hips on the next thrust. She tipped her head back, and he concentrated on the line of her throat and the darkening bruise his teeth had left there. He snapped his hips upward again, setting an easy rhythm, and she followed, arching her back as tiny pants of breath sent her chest heaving. His fingers stroked her higher, a wail erupting from her as he felt her jitter over the edge. Her walls clenched around him, demanding, pulling him deeper, and he felt his release building to a fine thread that teetered on the edge before he thrust once more, his toes digging into the mattress as his hands dug hard enough into her hips to leave bruises. His head fell back as he felt himself spill inside her, jerking forward into an erratic thrust as she ground down around him.

She leaned onto his chest, panting with their exertions and covered in a light sheen of sweat. His hand slid up her back, the rest of him boneless as he arranged her against him, his own heartbeat spiraling down from frantic to languid. She struggled to sit up, and he protested as he slipped from her warmth, but she only slid to his side to nuzzle against him. He decided the blankets were too much effort and tucked her into the crook of his shoulder.

Had he seen her smile before he drifted into sleep, it would have broken his heart.

* * *

He woke, muzzy and warm in the pre-dawn light. He wanted nothing more than to curl up against her and feel her pressed against his chest, but his hand hit nothing but the empty tick. That woke him further, and he looked around in confusion.

He was alone in the room, and he swore under his breath as his head hit the pillow again in frustration before he fumbled into a pair of trousers, calling for Fenris as he did. Fenris was there in a moment, taking in Sebastian looking disheveled and wearing nothing but his trousers, the elf's nose wrinkling with the stench of sweat and sex in the room.

"She's gone," Sebastian said, swearing again.

* * *

A/N: So is my apology for leaving you hanging last time acceptable? As always, thank you for reading, and I apologize for any errors. I had to finish in a rush because I'm about to go see _Thor_.

~Lywinis

**Fun facts for this chapter:**

_Memento vivere _means A reminder of life (literally remember that you have to live)


	9. Mens Rea

Mens Rea

* * *

She waited for Sebastian to slip into slumber, his hand clutching her hip with possessive weight. His breathing slowed as his eyes closed. Her smile was tinged with a gentleness she was unaware of, but faded as she took in his sleeping form. She pressed her lips to his forehead, her thumb brushing his jaw as he stirred. The hand on her hip slid away as he rolled to his back, resting splayed on his belly as he sighed.

"I'm sorry." She flinched as he gave another sigh, reaching for her, but he didn't wake. She let out a breath and prepared herself to move.

She crawled out of bed, sparing him a last look as she pulled the blankets up and over him to protect him from the chill creeping into the room. How easy it would be to curl back up against him and sleep, be content. She didn't allow herself to finish the thought, dressing with sure movements. This was for the best; she couldn't give him what he needed. She had promised him one night, and that would be all she could bear to give him. The fire burned low, casting the room in sullen red shadow. It painted the lines of Sebastian's form in stark relief, and she held her bodice closed with a hand as she crept from the room, her shoes dangling from her fingers.

It had been foolish, she knew, even as she wobbled from the room on unsteady legs. She cursed herself for giving in to his plea. The temptation to have something to herself, a memory that would be hers alone, had been too great to resist. It had been sweeter than her imagination allowed her in Kirkwall, better than remembered fantasies along the cold road. It was something she locked to her heart as she stuffed her knapsack full of the clothes she'd been given.

Cambert woke as she passed him to leave the room, and he rose to trot after her, obedient to the end. He whined when she made the hand gesture that would send him to the floor on his belly. Her hand with the palm flat rose over his head in the command, and he obeyed. She knelt and stroked his greying head, running her fingers over the grizzled muzzle dappled white by age. He licked her wrist, intelligent brown eyes sad that she was commanding him to stay, when he had gone along so many times before.

"I told you, lad. I can't take you with me on this one. Be a good boy, and live well. I know he'll – "

Here, she paused. She didn't know anything anymore. He would be angry. Could she trust Cambert to be safe here? She had to take the chance, and time was slipping away. Her window to escape was dwindling while she dawdled here. She hugged him about his great, loyal neck, squeezing in brief farewell.

"Stay here, Cambert. Be a good lad." His whine was cut off by the shutting door, but he obeyed, loyal to the end. She pressed her head against the wood of the door, her head bowed as she took a shaky breath. Just one more memory to leave behind, to cut from herself. She straightened her shoulders, firm in her purpose.

* * *

The halls were quiet as she padded through them, the braziers dark. Moonlight filtered through the high windows of the foyer as she opened the large door just wide enough to slip through it, out into the chill spring air. She glanced around, seeing the castle courtyard bare save for a few guards who patrolled above, walking the walls in silent vigil. The stables were across the moon-washed cobbles of the courtyard, butted up against the outer walls. She waited for the ones on vigil above to pass out of sight, and then made a dash for the warm darkness of the inside of the barn.

Horses gave quiet nickers as she entered, shuffling in their disturbed sleep. She shushed them as best she could, petting velvet-soft noses here and there as she passed, allowing them to get used to her scent. A familiar horse hove his head over his stall, snuffling and lipping at her hair. She smiled in the dim shadows of the stable and patted the roan stallion on his muscled neck.

"Hullo, boy. I didn't thank you for taking me all the way to the castle the other day, did I?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper as she rubbed the great beast along his neck. He gave a snort, butting his nose against her. "I know, you're in the mood for a ride, but I won't be taking anything else from your master, least of all his horse. I just need to get to the other side of the stable to the exit. You won't tell him I've been this way, will you?"

He lipped her hair again in answer.

"Good boy. Quiet down now, so you don't alert the guards." She adjusted her pack on her shoulders, moving to the back of the stable, where the tack room was. She had guessed right; there was a door to lead the horses outside the walls in case of a fire. She had seen it on the ride in, and it had proven to be what she'd thought it to be. The wooden latch lifted with nary a creak, and she thanked the Maker for her continued luck as she slipped out the door and past the castle walls.

No cry went up from the walls as she made her way down the hillock where Arrow's Rest crouched, and she knew that she was either very lucky, or that she had been let go. The second thought filled her with uneasiness, and she hurried down the grassy slope, angling for the path that cut through the sparse forest of the rest of the island. Clouds passed across the moon as she walked, covering the world once more in shadow lit only by the distant torches that marked the great bridge. By her estimation, dawn was an hour or two away, long enough to slip into the city and get lost among the docks.

Once she got onto that bridge, she could disappear into the winding streets of Starkhaven; from there, she could buy passage on a ship with the coin sewn into the lining of her satchel. She made good time down the road, the moon peeping through the cloud cover giving her an idea of her progress. Her hope rose as she saw the outline of the bridge become clearer in the night air, the torches at the bottom of the ramp guttering in the breeze as she approached.

She paused, unbelieving. She had thought the ramp a simple structure, but it rose into halves in the air, preventing easy passage; guards stood at the winch, impassive in their scrutiny as she hid behind one of the trees that lined the road. A drawbridge made more sense in hindsight, but now she could kick herself for her lack of planning. She had bolted without getting to know the area, and it was her own fault. No doubt the guards would hold her there until Sebastian could be roused.

She longed to be able to cast a rune of paralysis, but she hadn't wielded a proper staff since she'd left hers on the 'mount, long ago. She had nothing to channel the energy through, and it would drop the rune at her feet, useless and only serving to outline her hiding place to the guards she wished to snare. She could overpower them, but she bore them no real ill will, and it made her gut churn with guilt that anyone should come to physical harm in her escape. She'd done enough damage for a night.

She ran a hand through her hair, panic making her frazzled. She had no other choice. She turned away from the guards standing firm in their circles of torchlight, and made her way through the treeline, away from the road and towards the river. Her pack weighed heavy on her shoulders, but she hardened her resolve as she approached the night-blackened water of the Minanter. The river was wide, sluggish and dark, and she had seen Fenris and Sebastian paddling about in the shallows, but it was a different story when she stared across the water at the far bank.

She was a strong swimmer, and had been taught at an early age to take to ponds and lakes like a duck, but the one time she'd attempted to swim in a proper river had met with disaster. It had been swift and swollen with spring runoff from the mountains, and she'd almost gotten swept away in the current. Her mother's scream as her father had jumped in after her rang in the vaults of her memory as she faced the dark water. Malcolm Hawke had pulled his eldest from the grips of the river's swift undertow, dragging her to shore and pounding her chest to breathe life back into his child.

Her father had clutched her to his chest, and she would never forget the way his heart had pounded as he scolded her for not testing the current first. It was one of the only times she could remember seeing her father cry, and that had dulled the sting of the whipping she'd gotten when her father had determined she was all right. She shivered as she looked at the calm Minanter, the sluggish waters as smooth as glass. Would it be as smooth under the surface?

Her memory spiraled forward, to a day that ran parallel to that one – pulling the prince of Starkhaven from the lashing waves of the Waking Sea, dragging him out by his collar as she yelled for Anders and Varric for help, coughing on swallowed seawater. He nearly drowned to protect her and a child she had been guarding. The man they were fighting had grabbed him in a bear hug and they had both toppled off the cliffs. Celeste dove in without thinking about it, to save him from the grip of the sea. She had kissed him for the first time that day, breathing life back into him as she and Anders had healed his crushed ribs. She could almost taste the salt again.

She gave her head a violent shake and looked to the river again. The river was the widest in Thedas, she'd heard somewhere, feeding the Amaranthine Ocean with streams running from Nevarra and the Hundred Pillars. It would be a long swim. Swallowing the dread creeping into her chest with icy fingers, she untied her shoes, standing barefoot in the wet grass by the water as she removed her heavy skirt and bodice, leaving her in a long shift. She rolled these up and placed them in the pack, tying it down tight to prevent the water from leaking in. Tying her shoes to the pack, she held it to her chest as she stepped into the water of the river. It was cold, but not unbearable, and she tried to ignore the gooseflesh that rippled up her arms and back at the feeling of the water.

Mud from the bank squished between her toes as she walked, and she swallowed again as the water made it past her hips. The bank bottomed out in a sudden drop, and she raised her pack above her head as she sank into the water with a gasp. Her head submerged for a brief moment, but she resisted the urge to thrash and instead kicked with her legs, surfacing with the pack still held high. She shifted the weight of the bag to one hand and used the other to begin paddling across the river with a clumsy side-stroke. She began to feel better about the decision as she swam; she could feel the current, and it was a gentle push, nothing like the gripping hunger of the spring-fed river of memory.

She was nearing the halfway mark, and she rolled to her back to shift the weight of the pack to her other arm so she wouldn't tire. Rolling to her other side, she kicked her legs again to propel her further.

Right into the silent undertow that rushed mid-river, buried beneath the glassy surface.

She thrashed then, terror gripping her insides as she was sucked under the water. Her pack was sent spinning away from her, slipping from her clutching fingers as she struggled to regain the surface. She was tugged downriver, limbs flailing useless in the water as panic overwhelmed her. She struggled, her shift clinging to her legs as she felt her lungs burning from want of air.

Her father wouldn't be there to drag her out of the water this time; the reality of that made her focus pare down, sharp as a needle point. She kicked her legs as she felt her bare toes scrape the bottom, pushing off to break free of the current. She met the calmer waters of the outer river, and she pushed to the surface, muscles screaming.

She bobbed to the surface, coughing and choking as she tried to get her bearings. She was drifting past the part of the bank she was aiming for, and she struck out with more kicks to propel herself away from the Minanter's maw, heart pounding at her brush with death. The pink light of dawn was beginning to peek over the horizon as she dragged herself, dripping and shivering, back onto the bank of the island. She collapsed onto the grassy bank, mud streaking her front as she huddled in on herself in the chill air.

Her legs drew up to her chest, and she could feel her teeth chattering. The river had been cold, colder than she'd expected. Her shift clung to her form, sopping wet, and she imagined her lips were blue based on how numb they were. Common sense dictated that she find somewhere warm and dry, but her aching muscles refused to move. She gave a violent shiver, even as she found her eyes drifting shut. She was just so tired. She faded from consciousness as the sun began to rise over Starkhaven.

* * *

Sebastian raced down the hallway after pulling on a shirt and a pair of boots, buckling the belt that Fenris held out to him as he roused the guard. He gave curt orders to find her, his heart pounding in fear. The men scattered, servants hurrying to saddle Sebastian's horse if needed.

She had left. She had promised him one night, and he hadn't believed her, and now she was gone. He had been too caught up in his own desires to realize it, but he saw it now. She had given in far too fast, had given him what he wanted and then used the cover to slip from the castle. Maker, he was a fool.

They made a quick route of the castle, finding nothing in her rooms but Cambert, who sensed the worry that tautened Sebastian's frame. The Mabari stretched his stiffened muscles, his nose to the ground at Sebastian's urging. He was grateful that she had left the dog; picking up her trail would be easier this way. His horse had been saddled by the time they made it out to the courtyard, and Cambert led them through the stables, stubby tail wagging as he led them straight to the latched door that led out into the open fields of the island.

Berach snorted as Sebastian mounted up, the roan stallion pawing the ground with a huge hoof as Fenris leapt onto the mare next to him. Cambert set off at a brisk pace, scrambling through the underbrush and onto the main road. They road at a brisk trot, even though the slowness of their pace gnawed at Sebastian.

Slow anger built as they rode down the path that would lead them to the drawbridge. If his men had let her through –

Instead of running up to the bridge, however, Cambert sniffed around one of the trees along the road. Sebastian's hands tightened on the reins as the dog darted of the road towards the riverbank. Surely she hadn't tried to swim across? He felt the color drain from his face as Cambert sat on the bank and gave a thin howl.

She had.

He hadn't warned her about the current, the capricious undertow that made the river profitable for merchants to the west. If she had tried to swim…

He pushed away thoughts of her broken, drowned body swept out to the Amaranthine Ocean, instead turning to Fenris. "Ride back to the castle, and tell them to comb the banks of the river on the far side. I'm going to ride further along the bank."

Fenris opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut at the set of Sebastian's jaw. He wheeled the mare around, swearing in Arcanum as he kicked the horse into a gallop back up to the castle. Sebastian set Berach into a trot along the bank, riding east towards the castle as well. Cambert followed alongside, his head hanging low in mourning for his mistress. Sebastian kept a sharp eye out while he rode, scanning the bank for any sign of her.

Cambert saw her first, as it happened. The Mabari stiffened, his tail wagging in furious sweeps as he darted off into the reeds along the bank. He gave a rough bark, then a distressed whine as Sebastian dismounted, pushing through the growth to where the dog nosed Celeste, her legs still dangling in the water and clad in nothing but a sopping wet shift. Her front was caked with mud and her fingertips and lips held a faint blue tinge. She lived, however, and that was enough to spur Sebastian into action.

He raced back to his horse, tugging the blanket rolled behind the saddle off and stripping his shirt as he went. He picked her up, stripping the wet garments from her and pulling his shirt over her nakedness. Wrapping her in the blanket, he chafed her arms and legs, trying to get some warmth into the chilled flesh. Though it was spring, the river would be cold until later in the day, and Maker knew how long she had been lying there.

He estimated that she had been swept down half the length of the island by the river, looking up at the walls of the castle on the hillock behind him. She was lucky to be alive and in one piece.

"What possessed you to try and swim the river?" he asked, not expecting an answer as he stood, lifting her in his arms. She gave no sign that she was aware of her surroundings, breathing in a steady cadence. His arms tightened around her in a brief embrace, thanking the Maker that she hadn't been swept under. He started up the hill toward the castle, Berach following at his whistle and Cambert trotting along without being called.

Fenris met him at the gate, his eyebrows raised as he saw that Sebastian carried her. He barked orders to the guards to call off the search, falling in to step with Sebastian. He was silent as they made their way in to the castle. He carried her into his rooms, laying her back down on the bed and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Cambert leapt up as well, the Mabari settling himself against his mistress and providing body heat. The color had come back into her lips and fingers, and he was thankful for that, settling himself beside her on the bed.

"Sebastian," Fenris said. Sebastian met his look as he began taking his boots off. The elf shook his head, his harness creaking in the quiet room as he walked to the grate to build up the fire. "Her clothes and the pack she carried are gone. She was running away."

"I know," Sebastian said, stretching himself out next to her on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. "She told me as much."

"And you would still - ?" Fenris left the question hanging in the air, shaking his head. "You are stubborn."

"As are you. Don't tell me you've never had the urge to cut and run, for we know that's not true." Fenris scowled at that, but made no comment. "As it stands, we're going to need to put a guard by the stables now. Will you tell the kitchen to put some broth on? If I'm not wrong, she'll need it when she wakes."

Fenris snorted. "Very well."

He paused by the door to look at Sebastian, legs crossed at the ankle as he watched Celeste sleep. He shook his head once again, white hair brushing his shoulders, at the look on Sebastian's face. The door clicked shut behind the elf, leaving Sebastian alone with her once again. He laced his fingers over his stomach, resigned to waiting on her to wake up before he could get any answers.

* * *

A/N: OKAY. So. This was done at noon, and I'm nearly done with the next chapter, but the site is being stupid again, so if you'd like more timely updates, please hit up my livejournal. You can find it under my author profile. As always, thanks for reading, and the comments have been ranging from awesome to hilarious, but I appreciate each one. You guys are awesome.

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts about this chapter:**  
_Mens Rea_ means 'guilty mind'.


	10. Aegretudo

Aegretudo

* * *

Celeste's chill became the raging burn of a fever in what seemed to be overnight. Sweat drenched the sheets as she tossed, soaking his shirt through. Sebastian called for water and clean bed sheets, shooing out too-curious servants who were more than likely already talking about the woman in their master's bed. He couldn't bring himself to care at the moment, not with Celeste thrashing the blankets off until she cooled and then shivering as a round of chills wracked her too-thin body.

She hadn't regained her strength before this little stunt, still a long way off from a healthy weight. He soaked rags in the cold water from the bucket the servants brought, wiping the sweat from her skin to cool the fever even as she thrashed away from him. He piled blankets upon her, sliding under them with her to provide her with his own warmth as her teeth chattered. He held her, whispering soft words to her as he stroked her sweat-damp hair out of her eyes.

She babbled, incoherent in the throes of the fever. Sometimes she spoke to Anders, to Fenris, or to any number of their companions. Sometimes he was Carver, Bethany, or her mother, her eyes wide and glassy as she stared through him. On rare occasion, he was her father, Celeste sobbing like a child as she promised to never do something again. He held her and rocked her, shushing away her fears. Cambert had long since vacated the bed, whining from the rug before the fire when his mistress spoke.

"Please don't go, papa. I can't take care of mama without you. You know how she is, she'll never– " The rest was lost, muffled in his neck as he stretched out beside her, holding her close through the storm of sickness and tears.

He tended her through the night, and he did not hear his own name once as she slept in fits and starts. He did not know whether to consider that a blessing or a curse. He cared for her, exhausting himself to keep her on the bed when she would have fallen out upon the floor in her ravings. He was aware of the sun going down on the second day, of Fenris bringing him food and allowing him to rest and eat while the elf watched over her. He bathed his hands and face in the bucket of fresh water Fenris brought up, his eyes gritty from constant vigilance at Celeste's side.

The elf's face was inscrutable as Sebastian piled on more blankets to ward off the chill of the evening in the room, even with the fire blazing. He stood, looking down at Celeste as she tossed on the bed. She stared past them both, eyes still bright with the fever.

"How long can she endure this?" Fenris said at last. His expression softened, old memories surfacing at last. "Surely this is a terrible strain on her."

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "I'm doing what I can. We'll have to send for a lay healer in town if her fever doesn't break by the next morning. She's half-starved, so it's no wonder she's gotten sick."

"Then you should sleep. You'll do her no good exhausted."

"I'll sleep when she's not thrashing about. She needs to be held down now, so she doesn't hurt herself." He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, trying to hide the flinch he gave when she shied away from his touch.

Fenris made a small sound halfway between exasperation and disapproval. "As you will, then. I will bring you more water."

"Thank you, Fenris."

"Don't thank me yet. She'll try to run again, mark my words."

The door clicked shut behind the elf, and Sebastian turned to the bed. She stirred, kicking with feeble legs at the blankets. Sweat was beading her brow and she coughed, her throat rasped raw. He reached for a clean rag and soaked it, preparing to wipe her down.

"Sebastian." His name made him freeze, the cool rag dripping onto his boots. It was the first time she'd addressed him by name during the fever. "Sebastian, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He forced his legs, wooden and unresponding, to stumble 'cross the floor and sit upon the bed next to her. She looked through him, her eyes glassy and the pupils dilated. He sighed, his hope that she was lucid dashed. He began wiping her hands and face, the cool cloth bringing her temperature back down. She twisted her head back and forth on the pillow, mumbling apologies as he worked. As her temperature cooled, she began to shiver, and he pulled the blankets up around her, sliding into the bed next to her and holding her close, chafing her arms.

This time, she curled against him, against his warmth, and he hushed her with a soothing hand down her back. Her brow was cool and she slept at last. He allowed himself to relax for a moment, holding her to him in the silence of the room. Cambert hopped up on the other side of the bed, warming his mistress's back as she snuffled in sleep. Sebastian scratched the dog behind the ears in idle distraction, concentrating on the woman in his arms.

She was sorry, but was this imaginary hurt, or was it an apology for her disappearance last night? He wished he knew. He buried his face in her hair, hoping that the fever had broken at last when she sighed against him, deep in slumber. Exhausted from three days of caring for her, he drifted off to sleep himself. Fenris returned to see them asleep, the elf leaving the bucket of cool water without a sound.

Bright sunlight streamed through the windows of Sebastian's chamber before either of them stirred. She woke first, sore and aching from the vestiges of sickness. She was weak, and she could feel it in her limbs as she stretched careful muscles. Her shifting roused Sebastian, whose arms tightened about her in reflex before his eyes opened. His face was a canvas of naked hurt before he regained his composure, a blank mask sliding into place as he released her and rose from the bed. He pulled the bellcord in the corner, instructing the servant that appeared like a wraith to draw a hot bath and have broth sent up.

He didn't look at her, poking at the fire in the grate instead. She didn't struggle to sit up. She could not muster the energy to try, instead lying there settled against Cambert's flank, the hound still deep in the peaceful slumber that only older dogs could achieve. Her eyes followed him as he walked across the room, gathering soaps and clean garments from the chest against the wall. The silence in the room was a punishment unto itself, a heavy thing that felt as though it would suffocate her.

He settled himself in a chair he dragged from before the fire and placed next to the bed. He laced his hands over his stomach, finally meeting her face.

"You broke your word." The truth slapped her across the face, stinging. The hurt was nothing compared to the disappointment on his face, however. She mused that years in the Chantry had perfected that look, not to mention the shenanigans they had gotten up to might have cultivated that particular expression faster than usual. She let out a shaky breath.

"I promised you one night, and that was it. I kept that part of my word. The fortnight was null and void after that."

He frowned. "Well, now you have no choice. You'll be weak from that fever for a while, and your pack was washed away, from what we could tell. You'll stay until you're completely recovered. If you don't like it, I'll have Fenris sit outside your door. Maker knows he's been itching to do so since you've arrived."

"Sebastian – "

"No, Celeste. You nearly drowned, and then you caught sick. You're not fit to make the decision to leave yet. You'll stay, and that's final." His voice brooked no argument. "Do not seek to defy me on this, for you won't like the consequences."

She sighed, but her comment was cut off by the arrival of the hot bathwater. The vapor from the water wafted from the copper tub as Sebastian arranged the basket of soaps on a folding table before turning to her. She flushed as he tossed back the blankets, realizing she was clad in one of his shirts and nothing else. He didn't say anything, but helped her to stand on wobbly legs as they made their way over to the tub.

He peeled the sweat-stained shirt from her frame, tossing it to the side and helping her into the steaming water. She sat with a noise between pleasure and pain; the water was on the verge of boiling, but it eased a lot of the ache from her muscles. She moved to sit back, but the sight of Sebastian peeling his shirt off with causal indifference made her stop with wide eyes. He wouldn't.

He didn't. Instead, he moved behind her, dragging a stool over to sit next to the tub. He lathered his hands, running them over her shoulders and arms, broad thumbs pressing against the back of her neck in mimicry of the neck rub she'd given him two nights past. She gave a small sigh, her aching muscles relaxing against him as he worked, washing the soap from her with his cupped hands. Soap was lathered into her scalp, and she arched against his fingers like a cat as he washed her hair for her. He was quiet as he worked, touching her with clinical precision.

She realized he was bathing her as he would a patient, and the thought stung a bit. _You brought this on yourself, remember? If you had your way, you wouldn't be here at all. It's for the best that he remains angry._

Celeste could feel Sebastian behind her, hyper-aware of his presence in the room now. The warm water was making her drowsy again, the sensation of his hands on her scalp a soothing one. He cupped a hand over her eyes and sluiced warm water through her hair, rinsing the soap away. She was caught up in the thought of what those gentle hands were capable of when he ran a warm soapy rag across her abdomen, cleaning the sweat from her.

She shivered when he helped her stand, and he wrapped her in a thick cotton sheet, settling her in a chair near the fire as he stripped the linens from the bed himself. He shooed Cambert off the bed, the dog chuffing as he settled himself next to his mistress. It was a piece of him she recognized, his need to do things for himself rather than let a servant do it. His time at the Chantry shone through in these little things he did, and it was a comfort, even if he was angry with her at the moment.

She trailed a hand over the mabari's head, scratching behind his ears as she retreated deeper into herself. She was startled from her reverie as he appeared in front of her, holding one of his shirts in his hand. He pulled the garment over her head, and it enveloped her, dropping nearly to the middle of her thigh and affording her plenty of modesty. He helped her into bed, still with that silent look of admonishment on his face.

She wanted to apologize, but she knew that the words would fall on deaf ears now. He would assume she was only upset she had gotten caught, and she'd had enough of trying to argue with him for one day. She settled against the pillows as he regarded her with eyes that were far too dark for the Sebastian she knew, hooded and appraising. He turned away from her at last, pulling on a shirt and stamping into his boots.

"You should sleep. When you're well enough, you can move back to your quarters." He buckled his belt, not looking at her. "And when you're well enough to travel, you can leave. I'll have Fenris look in on you later."

"Where are you going?" she asked, ashamed of herself for wondering now, when she'd made her decision already.

"I still have a kingdom to run," he said, icy calm creeping into his voice. "Sleep now. We'll speak later."

The door closed behind Sebastian, a painful ache settling into her chest as it clicked shut. She wondered when she had gotten so weak. The hot rush of tears down her face became fitful sleep once they ebbed, and she dreamt of freedom, flying high above everyone else. They were unable to touch her, but she was aware for the first time when having that particular dream that she was unable to touch them either, no matter her desires.

* * *

She did not see Sebastian at all the next day. Fenris came by to help her back to her room, an old dressing gown draped over her to hide the long sleeves and stitching of Sebastian's shirt. He was gentle, despite his sneer. She wondered at that. He settled her into her bed in the chambers she'd been given, drawing the blankets up to her lap.

"Why do you hate me so, Fenris?" The question made him pause, his eyes narrowing at her.

"Where would you like me to start?" The markings that curled up from the collar of his shirt gave off a faint glow, belying his agitation. "Perhaps the beginning. You left, Hawke. I thought you cared, the only one I can remember after Danarius. You were my friend."

Green eyes narrowed further. "He came back, after you left. Did you know?"

She shook her head, numb at the thought of Fenris facing down his master alone. That was the only thing he had ever asked her help with – tracking the magister to his mansion. It had turned out to be abandoned, but Fenris had settled in to wait for him.

"Your friends are loyal. We stayed together. We searched for you, hoping you would come back. When Danarius came for me, they stood beside me." He folded his arms, his face betraying a mix of anger and disgust. "Where were _you_?"

When she didn't – _couldn't – _answer, he shook his head, padding to the door. Her fingers twisted in the coverlet, the shame burning like bile in her chest.

"Fenris," she said, looking at him at last. He paused at the door, his hand on the wooden jamb. "I'm sorry, although it is far too little, too late. If I could fix it, I would try to do so."

There was the crunch of wood under his gauntlet. "When you are well, I will take you to Starkhaven's border myself. _That_ is how you can fix it. Leave this place, and never return, Hawke. You are no longer needed."

"Of course." She didn't hide the bitter twist to her mouth, but she nodded. "It's what I've been trying to do from the start."

He gave a curt nod, releasing the door frame. The imprint of his gauntlet remained; the splintered wood a reminder of past scars that had been torn open afresh. She stared at it, deep in thought, for a long while afterward.

* * *

The carriage rolled through the bustling streets of Starkhaven, avoiding the crowds gathered at the marketplace by taking the side-streets. It clattered across the bridge, the horseman trailing it keeping good time as it rolled with smooth surety down the ramp and toward Arrow's Rest. Both the carriage and the horse bore the crest of the Red Iron, bloodied broadswords crossed on a field of black. The sigil parted the guards at the gate; all knew the man riding the horse as Carver Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. He dismounted in the courtyard with the clash of steel harness and the jingling of mail, his helmet tucked underneath his arm.

Varric hopped out of the carriage, landing with easy grace and adjusting his coat with a snap of his thick wrists. He turned, but the hooded figure that descended after him negotiated the folding steps with ease. They made their way up the wide oaken doors that marked the foyer of the castle, Sebastian flinging them wide to greet Carver. The Prince of Starkhaven and the Champion grasped forearms, Carver's hand dwarfing Sebastian's arm. Fenris gave them both a curt nod, standing behind Sebastian in his usual spot.

"So where is the tart claiming to be my sister?" Carver said, his voice a low rumble as he glanced around the large, open foyer of Arrow's Rest.

Sebastian scowled, crossing his arms. "If you do not believe me, then why did you come?"

"Would we miss a chance to take advantage of your hospitality, Choir Boy?" Varric said, injecting himself into the conversation as smooth as silk, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Besides, there's always the chance it was true, and it would do Junior good to know if Hawke is alive and well."

"Varric…" Carver's voice held a warning note that was ignored as the dwarf went on.

"A couple of days drinking your liquor instead of ours is enough payment for the long ride out here, even if she isn't who she says she is."

"Oh, she _is_ Hawke," Sebastian said, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grimace that could have been a smile in older times. "She's recovering from illness right now, and isn't strong enough to walk yet. Come, you can see her after you two wash the dust of the road off yourselves."

He paused at the sight of the quiet hooded figure that stood behind Carver. "You brought him?"

"I can't very well leave him in Kirkwall. You know about the break-in that happened last time I left town for a job. He'd been beaten bloody when I got back." Carver folded his arms, the harness creaking with the flex of his biceps. "Even my clout as Champion and the money I make as leader of the Red Iron can't stop those with a mind to hurt him. And he just…takes it. I can't tell him to defend himself, because he doesn't see the logic in it."

Sebastian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I might have some work in the library, then. He can have the room next to it, so long as he stays out of sight."

The hooded figure nodded, silent as he walked away; Fenris made a point of watching every step with sharp eyes. Varric passed a hand over his eyes, shaking his head.

"What a happy reunion." Sebastian snorted, and Varric grinned at him.

They walked to their rooms, kept clean for the occasional visit by the castle staff. Carver began shucking his armor at once, opting to dig out a soft tunic of blue wool with the Amell crest sewn into the shoulder. He washed while Varric stowed his gear, less dusty from the road and more fidgety to see this supposed 'Hawke' and get it over with.

Sebastian updated Varric on local goings-on, such as his current treaties with the merchant's guild and the current nobles who were courting him for alliance, dancing around the subject of what had been going on in Arrow's Rest. It was unlike him, and had Varric's sixth sense a-tingle. Something was not well here, and it wasn't just the faux Hawke. Carver soon joined them, however, and it was time.

A strange sort of apprehension washed over the dwarf as they made their way down the quiet west wing. The series of rooms here were not often used, being closer to Sebastian's own quarters and the library. That he would put this woman here spoke of Sebastian's conviction that this really _was_ Hawke. If it were true…

Varric tamped down on the hope with impatience. It had been four years. She was good, but he was better. His contacts would have heard something. He shook his head to clear it as they approached the last door at the end of the hallway. Fenris took up a position at the doorway, his arms over his chest and his face a dark scowl. _That _was telling.

Sebastian knocked, and a muffled voice called for them to enter. He lifted the latch and pushed the door open, Varric preceding Carver into the room. He didn't look at the bed just yet, wanting to savor the apprehension a moment longer before his hopes were dashed again.

"Oh, _shit_." The familiar voice made his head snap up, brown eyes widening as he took in the image of Hawke, frozen to the bed, a book in her lap and a cup of tea halfway to her lips. She set the cup down on the side table with exaggerated care, closing the book and setting it aside. Varric chanced a look at Carver; Junior looked as though he'd been punched in the gut. Varric couldn't blame him, he was feeling a little low on air himself.

"Hello, Varric. Carver…" She looked up at her younger brother with a million mixed emotions flitting across her face at once.

"Ceelee?" Carver was already striding to the bed, his hands shaking. The break in his voice brought Varric back to his senses. He caught Sebastian's eye and twitched his head toward the door. He had plenty of time to catch up with Hawke later, but now it was the siblings' chance to get reacquainted with each other. He and Sebastian made their exit, Fenris trailing along with them as they retired to Sebastian's private solar.

* * *

"You weren't kidding, Choir Boy."

"I wasn't. Believe me, I've looked long enough."

Sebastian related the past week and a half to Varric as he poured them both a stiff drink. Varric coughed a bit at the burn, but it was a welcome burn that eased the trembling in his hands at seeing his old partner again. He took a calming breath, listening to the tale and shaking his head.

"If it weren't you, I'd think you were taking storytelling lessons from me."

"Even you couldn't make up half of this."

"True." Varric glanced out the window. Carver had been closeted with his sister for little over three hours now; Varric didn't blame him in the slightest. He'd seen how her disappearance had taken their toll on the man over the years. Even now, he was having a hard time getting used to the idea of Hawke alive. It had defined their lives for so long, the thought of her gone for good; every time her surprised face wafted to the forefront it was a fresh revelation. He assumed he would get used to it in time.

His thoughts were interrupted by the bang of the door being slammed open so hard that it fair rattled on its hinges. Carver stood there, holding it open with one massive arm. His face was like a thundercloud, dark and foreboding as his dark eyes sought out Sebastian. He zeroed in on him, his steps deliberate as he stalked over to stand in front of the table as Sebastian stood to face him.

Varric would later swear he heard Carver's teeth grinding. "You _slept_ with my _sister_?"

* * *

A/N: This was done about 9 p.m. my time, but then my dad informed me we would be going to see _Thor _again. How can I deny those abs? Anyway, there we are. More to come tomorrow. (I adore Carver.) As always, thank you for reading!

~Lywinis

**Fun facts for this chapter**:

_Aegretudo _means 'sickness'.


	11. Arguendo

Arguendo

* * *

"You _slept_ with my _sister_," Carver said, his hands bunching into fists. He glared at Sebastian, who had risen to meet him head-on, or as well as he was able. Carver looked down at Sebastian, the smaller man craning his neck to look up at him, and while the prince of Starkhaven was no slouch when it came to muscle, Carver knew his arms would exceed the circumference of Sebastian's thighs if he flexed them. His brows pinched into a scowl, Sebastian folded his arms.

"Did she tell you this?" Sebastian's voice was quiet, laced with that deadly calm that Carver had seen turned against Goran Vael during the final confrontation for Starkhaven.

Carver ignored the threat of his tone, one thick finger thumping Sebastian in the sternum. "I saw the marks on her neck, you _bastard_, and she's wearing your _shirt_."

Varric stood, attempting to defuse the situation. "Junior – "

"Shut _up_, Varric." Carver said, his eyes never leaving Sebastian's. The dwarf raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back a pace and reseating himself with a grimace. Fenris was tense, his markings flaring as his eyes flicked between the two men. Varric's head gave a minute shake as he caught the elf's eye, as if to remind him that any move made that close would likely end up with Sebastian hurt.

"And what will you do, Carver?" Sebastian's voice still held that calm, that insufferable smugness that had taken over once he had been proclaimed prince. Blue eyes narrowed a fraction at him. "Are you going to take up for her now?"

"Damned right. She's my sister!" Carver thumped Sebastian in the chest again, their noses almost touching. "I'd kill you, but that would ruin the work the Red Iron did to put you here."

"From what she's told me, she would rather have control over her own affairs." The calm slid down the scale to frost, and Carver's glare deepened.

"I knew you were obsessed, Vael, but had I known – "

"Carver." Ceelee's cough from the doorway had him turning a fraction to see her from the corner of his eye. She leaned against the jamb, her brow beaded with sweat. She said she had been sick, but she hadn't said how sick. Taking in her pale countenance now, Carver felt the anger rush into him again. "Let it – let it go, Carver."

"You should be in bed," Sebastian said, his voice chiding as he made to step around Carver towards Ceelee. Carver shoved him, setting him back a pace. Sebastian took the blow, something flashing behind the blue of his eyes that Carver couldn't quite place. He'd seen men snap before, on the front lines, but this was nothing like that. It was cold, calculating; if Carver hadn't been so angry, he might have even been worried.

"Lay off, Vael. You've done enough." He turned his head so he could see his sister again. "Ceelee, Varric's going to walk you back to your room. You need more rest, and then we'll go back to Kirkwall."

"She's not going to Kirkwall, Carver."

Sebastian's face darkened with the first real irritation Carver had seen. Sensing an advantage, he pressed it.

"Oh, and you're going to stop me? Holding the Champion of Kirkwall's sister hostage would wreak havoc on your endless treaties, Vael. Kirkwall would close its ports to you and whoever deals with you." He glanced at Varric for confirmation, and the subtle nod encouraged him. "It would ruin Starkhaven's reputation."

"This isn't about Starkhaven's reputation, _boy_." Sebastian's icy tone brought back memories of feeling inferior to Ceelee in everyone's eyes, and only served to make him angrier. "Leave the politics to men who understand them. Your sister has agreed to remain here until she is well. What she does after that is of no concern of mine. She has made that perfectly clear."

"And her feelings? Did you take those into account when you slept with her?"

"Carver!"

"Let me handle this, Ceelee."

"Then stop speaking of me as if I'm not here!"

"I will not speak of anything you might think has gone on between us," Sebastian said, his arms crossed on his chest. "It's a disservice to her, and none of your business."

"I'm her brother, of course it's my business, you son of a bitch!" Carver's thin thread of patience snapped; his fist swung in a brutal arc towards Sebastian's face.

His Grey Warden stamina allowed him to be brutal and efficient in combat, but he had never seen a man move as fast as Sebastian Vael before. The prince of Starkhaven rolled outside Carver's punch, dodging as if he were made of quicksilver. Carver felt his arm wrenched up and around behind his back at a painful angle as a booted foot kicked his legs apart. A rough hand wound into his hair and the tabletop rushed to meet his face, his nose slamming into the polished wooden surface with a sickening crunch. Stars flared white hot behind his eyes as he struggled, the grip on his arm growing tighter.

The thunk of a blade meeting the table made him freeze. His vision cleared enough to see the blade of a long knife buried into the wooden table, Sebastian's hand wrapped around the hilt. The man leaned close to Carver's ear. Damn him, he wasn't even breathing heavy. Carver rolled his eye up and could make out the vague outline of Sebastian's head.

"You might be the Champion of Kirkwall, Carver, but here, you are my guest, and you remain at my whim. _I_ rule here, not your puppet of a viscount. The next time you attack me, I will let Fenris handle it, and he is far less gentle than I am."

The grip on his arm loosened, but did not release him at once.

"What happened between your sister and I is our business alone. It would do you well to remember that. She has made a promise to me, and this one I intend to see her keep. She stays until she is well, and after that, should she desire." Sebastian's voice was near a whisper now, low and dangerous, but the meaning was clear. He felt his arm released, the knife wrenched free from the table in the same elegant, conserved movement.

Ceelee wobbled to him as he stood, pinching his nose to make sure nothing was broken. He wrapped one of his arms around her, shushing her fussing over his nose. It had only been a warning, after all. She was still wearing Vael's shirt, the crossed arrows of Starkhaven in delicate embroidery at the throat, and the sight sent anger bolting through him. He ushered her towards the door, giving Sebastian another death glare as he went. The prince was impassive, arms folded across his chest once more. He watched them leave, his eyes lingering on Ceelee with a possessive air that set Carver's teeth on edge.

This wasn't over.

* * *

Celeste leaned on her brother on their way back to her room, the siblings supporting each other. She still hadn't gotten used to how heavy he was now; something about the taint had made Carver larger and stronger than she remembered. Still, she could see in his eyes that he was the same little brother that had pulled her pigtails and had dipped Bethany's hair in ink when they were little, and that was all that mattered. He ushered her into the room, shutting the door behind them again.

After making sure she was ensconced in bed again and swaddled with blankets, Carver set to pacing. He did it when he was agitated and couldn't hit anything; now was the perfect time for him to pace, Celeste thought. She followed his movements, watching the tousled black hair bob in the firelight.

"Let me see your nose, you great oaf," she said, her tone taking the sting out of her words. It was laced with fondness, family bonds still running deep within her.

He grunted at her and kept pacing.

"Carver."

He relented with a sigh, plopping down next to her on the bed. She scooted over to let him have some space, and then leaned forward, her fingers gentle as she probed his nose for breaks. He winced as she touched the tender cartilage, and she let a wisp of magic slip between her fingers to ease the pain. He let out a yelp as she shoved two fingers up his nostrils and gave a sharp twist, setting the nose right and healing the break with another burst of magic.

"I wish you would _warn_ me when you do that," he grumped, rubbing his nose.

"If I did, you'd flinch away, little brother," she said. She ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the unruly mop from his forehead.

"Oh, Ceelee," he said, catching her fingers in his. "What am I going to do with you?"

"For starters," she said, her tone light, "you can stop trying to protect me. I have enough of that with Sebastian around."

He scowled. "Bastard."

"_Carver_."

"Well, he is, Ceelee! He – he did that to you, with no thought for your feelings and now – "

She sighed. "Carver, stop. Sebastian didn't do anything to me that I didn't want done. I was the one who ran out, not him."

"Ceelee, stop protecting him!"

"Carver Mathieu Hawke, that's enough!" Her tone was no-nonsense and sharp; she reminded herself of her mother so much in that moment, fixing Carver with a harsh, disapproving stare, that she startled. Carver flinched away as well, his eyes widening.

"Well, if that's what you want," he mumbled, staring at his hands in his lap.

She reached out to him to pull him into a hug, wanting to mend the fracture before it began. He folded her in his larger arms, and they sat there a long while, her head tucked under her brother's chin.

"I just don't want to lose you again, Ceelee. You were _gone_." His voice was muffled in her hair, but she heard the hitch, and she knew he was on the verge of tears. She felt her own eyes prickle, and she wept against her brother's shoulder for the first time in years.

Cambert whuffled and jumped up on the bed, wriggling his way between the siblings. Carver snorted and rubbed the mabari's broad head, smiling though his eyes were reddened now. She hugged her brother in a tight embrace before finally sitting back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"So why did you leave him?" Carver stared at a spot to the right, his brows drawing down as he frowned at the wall. He had always done it; if he knew he wouldn't like the answer, he wouldn't look at her. She took a deep breath, Carver's presence reassuring.

"So he won't die, too." She held up her hands as he fixed her with a confused look. "Everyone I'm close to has died. They're gone, Carver. Bethany, Mama, Father, and you would be too, if not for Anders…"

"Ceelee, Bethany and Mama dying weren't your fault." He squeezed her fingers. "I know what I said, but – "

"No, Carver, I know that it was my fault. I wasn't fast enough to save Beth, and I wasn't paying enough attention to Mama, wrapped up in my other affairs. I couldn't heal Father when the cough took him. Anders saved you, if he hadn't been there, you'd be gone too." She looked away. "I don't want it to happen again. Not to Sebastian."

Carver sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He really didn't hurt you?"

"He didn't. He asked me to stay." She gave a small smile.

"He and I still need to have a talk about this."

"No, you'll just try and break his legs, and we've seen how well that works out for you."

He snorted. "He caught me by surprise."

"I'm sure he did. Please don't make me heal another broken nose?"

"I'm not making any promises." Carver gazed out the window at the deepening dark. "Anyway, it's too soon to be making plans as it is. Will you come back to Kirkwall?"

"No. It's too painful. Too many memories now."

To her surprise, Carver nodded. "I thought as much. From what you've told me, you've been on quite the adventure, all to avoid coming home."

"Enough to last a lifetime, I think." She sagged back against the pillows, Cambert laying his great head across her lap.

"True enough." Carver stretched and pinched his nose with care, checking the healed break. "It's getting late. You should have been sleeping long ago."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her shoulders as he pulled back to look at her. She felt another piece of her cauterize, the wounds closing a little more with her brother here to share the burden. Knowing that he didn't blame her anymore helped, if only a small bit.

"You're a worrywart, Carver."

"Yes, because I keep thinking I'll wake to find you dead. I missed you something fierce, Ceelee."

"I…missed you too, little brother."

"Varric's going to keep calling me Junior, isn't he?"

"Knowing Varric, probably."

"It's worth it."

* * *

Sebastian swirled the amber liquor in his glass, sinking deeper into the steaming water of the copper tub. He took another sip, letting the smooth liquid burn a track to his belly. Even now, he could only stomach a few measures of the stronger brandies, his tolerance muted from his time in the Chantry. He didn't regret it; it gave him a pleasant buzz while he relaxed, and he didn't imbibe too much. It was a nice compromise.

Now, however, his thoughts weren't on the Antivan brandy in his tumbler but the woman sleeping down the hallway. The fingers of his free hand twitched, aching to run through her hair, across her neck where the marks he had left lingered. He had taken perverse pleasure in Carver finding them, even if the situation was a bad one. Knowing that she hadn't healed the bite he had left that claimed her as his was heartening. Perhaps he could still get through to her.

Water eddied around his chest, sending ripples through the steam as he set his half-full glass on the folding table. He lathered himself, deep in thought as he scrubbed aching muscles. He wanted to talk to her alone; Carver staying in Arrow's Rest would not permit that for long, if at all. There would only be so much time before she got well and walked out of Starkhaven forever, and the air needed cleansing before then. He reached for his glass again, taking another sip of liquor before dunking his head to scrub his hair. His fingers dug into his scalp with a gentle rasp, serving to remind him of that night as well. He surfaced with a gusting of air that sounded like an explosive sigh.

His body was cleansed, but the bath did not do much for his whirling thoughts. He needed something that would be a pleasant distraction for all of them. Something that might let him get Celeste alone for a few moments to speak to her. He tipped his head back, resting it against the edge of the tub. As he chased and discarded idea after idea, his eyes fell on the pile of missives near his bedside table. He had brought them in to aid his sleep; nothing like a letter from Lord Meginard to set his eyelids heavier on his face.

The idea he had while looking at those letters made him pause, thumb tapping in idle concentration on the side of the tub. Perhaps something that he had neglected to do since taking the throne was in order. He was unaware of the smile that spread across his face as he rose from the tub, dripping as he searched for the sheet to dry himself for bed. He settled, naked on the bed as he discarded the sheet of thick cotton and lay back, hands laced behind his head.

It was time for Arrow's Rest to once again host a masquerade.

* * *

A/N: Eventually, I will burn out. But until I do, I will ride this comet to the very end. As it is, I do appreciate the comments and faves that I get everywhere I post this. However, I have a small favor to ask - please keep speculations about the plot and what's going to happen next to vague comments, if nothing else. Some people don't appreciate it, or may want to be spoiler free, and I would like to keep it that way, if you don't mind. I'm not bothered by it, and I'm not naming names or calling anyone out, but I know I read comments before I read a story, to see if it's any good, and I would hate to have a huge "it's X, isn't it?" plastered all over where I couldn't avoid it. If you absolutely _can't_ wait for the next update, feel free to email me or IM me, and I'll be happy to taunt you with tidbits. You can get my contact info on my author page.

I'd like to credit Illusionary Ennui for Carver's middle name - if you haven't read _Blessing_ yet, you should do so, it's amazing. As always, thanks for reading!

~Lywinis

**Fun facts for this chapter:**

_Arguendo _is a legal term nowadays, meaning 'for the sake of argument'.


	12. Sedo Pro Tempestas

**Sedo Pro Tempestas**

* * *

The spring sunlight slanted in through the window, illuminating the plush chair dragged there so that Celeste could read. Her brother had pestered her into staying in bed until she was fit to scream, but she allowed him to fuss at her for a while. She put her foot down at last when the feeling of being penned in became too much, and he made a begrudging allowance of settling her in a chair near the wide, open window on the fourth day of her recovery. The clicking chirps of a swallow could be heard, and she watched as the birds flitted back and forth, nesting materials in their wide beaks. The female and the male took the time to rest between each trip, singing as they puttered around their home. The breeze was scented with clean rain and the indefinable green smell that Celeste always associated with the garden of the Amell home in Kirkwall.

She set her book down for a moment and looked out at the sunlight on the river.

Her thoughts were dragged against their will to the city of Kirkwall, the port town she had called her home for so many years. She remembered Lowtown, with its filthy streets and its refugee population, looked down upon by even the native beggars. Hightown, with its ruffled nobles who looked down their noses at her, even though her bloodline was just as pure and illustrious as theirs. And Darktown, that hole of thieves and refugees, where lungs blackened and died and an apostate mage hid even while trying to save the world.

Thoughts of Kirkwall turned to her mother, and she realized that while the grief was still there, it had become less fresh since she touched on it before, and she realized that she hadn't dwelt too much on it since coming to Starkhaven. Too much was going on; _life_ was going on. It was a sobering thought. It was a little like prodding a healing scrape: the sting was there, but it was fading.

She had relied on it for so long to get her through the rest of her life – what would she do when the grief faded to a dull ache?

She bit her lip, looking out the window and sinking into the stew of her thoughts further. A knock on the hard wood of the door jamb made her jump, looking around her in embarrassment. Varric stood in the doorway, his thumbs hooked in his belt as he gave her a grin.

"Busy?"

"Never too busy for you, Varric," she said. "I'm all snugged in my chair if that's what Carver sent you to check."

He gave a chuckle, rolling his eyes. "Junior's understandably overprotective, Hawke."

"If you say so." She gestured to another chair that sat against the wall near the window. "I was just woolgathering, don't mind me."

"I imagine you don't let yourself do that a lot," he said, dragging the chair over to sit next to her. "You owe me a story, you know."

She snorted. "Do I, now?"

"I think you do. Dead people don't just reappear after four years with no questions asked. I need to know, even if this one doesn't get told."

The offer of silence was enough to set her back a step. She stared at him, his innocuous smile and his thick fingers steepled in front of him radiating nothing but honesty. It was a rare thing, to see the dwarf place himself out there with no compensation, and the thought that it was for her was touching.

"Varric…"

"Look, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine." He gave an eloquent shrug, his shoulders rolling under the bulk of his coat. "I just know that it's been four years and I missed your insane antics. Your brother is far more stoic."

She grinned. "He likes to think so, anyway."

Varric returned the grin, and she settled back into her chair, her hands in her lap. The thought that Varric would embellish something even more outlandish than her tale crossed her mind, but she knew that if she asked, he wouldn't breathe a word. Varric didn't press, sitting next to her in comfortable silence until she was ready.

"I suppose I could tell you about the time I punched an Orlesian noblewoman because she called me common," Celeste said, leaning toward him, her chin in her hand.

Varric sat forward, his chin in his hands as his amber eyes gleamed with a mischievous light. "Do tell! I like stories of you putting snooty nobles in their place."

She laughed. "Well, it's a long story…"

* * *

Sebastian oversaw the cleaning of the castle, his hands joining in the scrubbing as the stone floors were cleaned and strewn with fresh rushes, the scent of rosemary mixed in with the plants a reminder of how often the job wasn't done. He made a mental note to have it done more often, guilt at neglecting the halls of his family a small niggle in the face of greater worries. He rolled up his sleeves a little more and tossed the brush into the bucket of soapy water, stretching the kinks out of his back.

Fenris gave an amused snort at the sight of the master of the castle scrubbing his floors like a scullery wench. The elf was helping, carrying buckets of steaming, soapy water to and from the kitchen, and he handed Sebastian a goblet of wine as the prince sat back on his heels to survey the high hall. He sipped at the cooling liquid, the bustle around the castle before the guests began arriving in the next few days resembling one of his grandfather's hives of bees.

He thought of the destroyed colonies that sat, gutted, out in the garden, and made another mental note to restore those as well. His grandfather had loved the bees, and their return would do much for the local flora. The thought of golden honey once again at the high table cemented this decision, and he resolved to see to it at the first opportunity.

Carver interrupted his thought process, sauntering into the high hall with Cambert at his heels. The Mabari gave Carver an adoring look before wandering over to greet Sebastian. He gave the dog a rough scratch behind the ears before turning to Celeste's brother.

"What's all this then?" he asked, staring bemused at the frenzy of activity.

"A very special occasion, the discovery of your sister being alive and well. Arrow's Rest is holding a masquerade ball." Sebastian stood, setting his goblet down on the nearby table. "I figured a celebration was in order."

Carver scowled. "You're not going to announce a sudden engagement to my sister that she didn't know about, are you?"

"And why would you think that, Carver?" Sebastian gave him a bland smile. "I'm simply trying to play the gracious host, nothing more. Celeste has made it perfectly clear that I am not what she wants."

"I don't trust you, Vael. You're not the man you were. Too many plots and schemes rattling around in your head, they choke out the good intentions." He folded his arms and looked at Cambert, who was happy to settle his head on his paws and nap between the two men. "I thought you were different from the nobles, but it turns out the only difference was that you weren't in power yet."

"Perhaps." Sebastian gave a blithe shrug, unable to muster any kind of irritation for Carver at this very moment. "The duties of the crown are far from the duties I had in the Chantry. While I was happier with what I was required to do in the Chantry, this is where I belong. My people needed me, and I would be doing them a disservice by ignoring them any longer than was necessary to help you complete your tasks in Kirkwall."

Carver gave a slow nod. "We all do what we must, on that we can agree."

"And that's a start." Sebastian gestured to the table and they sat, the mood shifting to a noticeable level of comfort. Carver leaned back into his chair.

"I can't figure you out, Vael. What exactly is it that you want from my sister?"

"The same thing I've always wanted, but have never been in a position to ask for – just her."

Carver scowled. "So you didn't drive her off?"

"If I didn't fear her running again, I would tell her this. If she would have me, I'd give her everything I am, but as it stands, she will walk away before I get the chance to convince her otherwise."

"You're honest about it, at least." Carver snorted into his goblet. "Most men would deny it all out of self-preservation."

Sebastian shrugged. "I swore I would never lie to you and yours, and I haven't. I have withheld information, but the information withheld was hers to give, not mine."

Carver nodded again, and Sebastian felt the rapport solidify as the larger man set down his goblet. "She said you asked her to stay."

"So I did. I would have her stay with me for as long as she wills it, but the choice is hers."

"Ever the good host."

"Ever the tactful mercenary."

"Touché." Carver gave him another half-lidded stare. "Just…don't hurt her anymore."

"Her wounds started when I hid in the Chantry, afraid of being the man she needed me to be. I'm trying to mend hurts that are four years old – they're bound to have knit wrong somehow."

"I still feel like I should be punching you in the face."

"There's a line about a mile long, starting with the flock of vultures that will be roosting here four days hence. You won't be the last, either."

Carver barked a laugh, draining the wine from his goblet. "I imagine not."

* * *

Sebastian sat in his solar, a book open unnoticed on his lap. He had retreated here to avoid seeing Celeste about the castle – she had been after Carver for a day and a half now to let her up and about, and she was making the most of her newfound freedom and taking short walks interspersed with resting on the myriad of benches and seats strewn about the castle grounds. She was sitting in the garden now, he knew, the sunlight on her upturned face. He couldn't quell the need to talk to her, or the need to understand her, but it was easier when he avoided her.

He would bide his time. She hadn't run yet, not even with her brother to aid her. Perhaps that meant that she was considering his offer. He would find out soon enough, he imagined.

He had never been a patient man, however, and the wait was beginning to drive him just the slightest bit mad. He closed the book with a _thump_ and set it on the side table, steepling his fingers in thought. He could go and see her. He shouldn't, but Maker knew he desired to see her. He wanted to check for himself how she was recovering, and since that first day he had stayed away, choosing to give her space to breathe.

Varric had been his eyes and ears over the past week, keeping him updated on her progressing health. The regular meals were beginning to fill the hollows in her cheeks; the circles under her eyes were disappearing with regular sleep. He itched to see for himself, to see the transformation. He wanted to see the glossiness come back into her hair and her eyes to shine at him, alert once more. He was aware, in a vague way, that perhaps he ached for a shadow.

He snorted, rising from his chair. At this rate, he would not get any work done. There was nothing for it but to seek her company. If he were lucky, she would let him stay. The irony of it was not lost on him, curving his lips into a cynical smile as he strode from the room.

He found her in the lushest part of the garden, sitting on a bench beneath a flowering apple tree. Pink blossoms drifted down, wafted by the breeze that came off the river, carrying the clean smell of the water with it. Her face was turned upward as she soaked in the sunlight, and he saw that the improvement to her health that Varric reported was indeed true. A half-smile was on her lips, her eyes closed as the breeze tousled her hair.

He intended to turn around, not wanting to intrude, but she seemed to notice when he took the first step. Her eyes opened, the dark green widening a little in surprise.

"Sebastian," she said, the smile fading but not completely. It was almost his undoing, pressure loosening in his chest at the sight of her. "Please, come sit with me."

He took a seat on the warm stone of the bench, perching on the edge so as not to crowd her. Her face was unreadable, and he couldn't tell if she would welcome his company or bolt the next moment. Patience was never a virtue of his, but he had learned much from his short time as prince. He gave her a smile, his hands clasped between his knees as she regarded him.

"I'm sorry I have not been able to break away from my duties to check on how you were feeling," he said, the lie churning his guts. He had ever been the coward where Celeste was concerned. "You're looking much better."

"I'm feeling much better," she said. "Despite what Carver may think, anyway."

His smile was genuine that time, having heard of the arguments between the siblings on the subject of Celeste's freedom. "Your brother was always ever concerned with your well-being, as are we all. You should feel free to ask Alice for anything you might require, and she'll see to it."

"Varric's been good company, but I'm glad I have someone to talk to besides him and Carver. There's only so much one dwarf can do to keep me from wanting to strangle my brother." Her hands twisted into a fold of the robe she was wearing, crinkling the soft fabric around them. He had never seen her nervous before, never seen that thin line of tension that held her body in check. It was disconcerting, and he tried to do what he could to soothe her, keeping his body language as neutral as possible.

He snorted. "You couldn't get your hands 'round his neck."

"Doesn't stop me from wanting to try sometimes." She looked at him, those dark green eyes staring into him, even as she took a shaky breath.

He smiled in reassurance, making no move towards her. It was a bit like stalking a deer that had scented something on the wind – oblique, cautious steps, lest the animal bolt. He shook off the analogy, realizing it was morbid. She was trying to make peaceful conversation, which was more than he'd gotten from her in the entire time she'd been in Starkhaven.

"It's…good to see you." It was an olive branch, to him and perhaps herself. He searched her face for a moment before giving a slow nod, fearing his resolve might shatter if he allowed himself more. He didn't want her to run. He'd already pushed her away once in his eagerness.

"I feel the same," he said, sitting back on the bench, his shirt warmed by the sunny stone. He took a calming breath, knowing her gaze was on his face as he tipped his head back. "It's been a long week, but your company is welcome, as are you and our friends."

"You never thought it would be as much work as it is, living in the viper's nest?" Her smile was small, but it was there, even as she settled against the bench herself. The taut, nervous lines of her form eased into something resembling comfort as she turned her face to the sun again.

"Hardly. Too many people wait to strike without warning. You bleed before you realize the fangs have even hit you, and by then it's far too late." He gave a shrug. "But I must do my part for the greater good, and keeping Starkhaven free and peaceful has been the duty of the Vaels since the rule of Ironfist was overthrown. There is no one else to do it."

"To be fair, I always thought you would make a good ruler. You have the compassion to lead without becoming a tyrant. The Chantry tempered you well."

"I recall you saying that once or twice," he said, cracking open one eye to look at her. She had bitten her lip, worrying it between her teeth. He resisted the urge to reach for her. "Celeste–"

"Your highness?" The voice stole through the moment, shattering it like so much glass. He straightened on the bench with a mental curse as his seneschal Bernard, a round, portly man in his fifties, came around the corner. He dropped into a low bow as he sighted Sebastian. "Your highness, pardon my intrusion."

Not likely, but Sebastian inclined his head at the sweating man for him to continue.

"The first carriage of the season has pulled up in front of the castle, and I thought you might wish to greet your guests."

Damnation. He sighed, turning to Celeste.

"Another duty that must be attended to right this very moment. If you'll excuse me?" She nodded, a blank expression sliding back over her face. He stood, bending low over her wrist. He did not brush his lips to the pulse point there, hovering just above the pale skin of her wrist, but he heard the quickening of her breath. His voice slid lower, to a tone that carried to their ears alone. "I hope to continue this conversation later. My apologies for neglecting you, Celeste."

He straightened, not missing the full body shiver that racked her frame or the way her eyes followed him as he turned. He gave Bernard a smile that had nothing to do with him, and followed him out of the garden. He would swear he felt her eyes on his back every step of the way.

* * *

A/N: I _told_ you I was working on _Aquila_, didn't I? Despite numerous distractions (and you know who you are), I have a transitory chapter here for you. I wanted to establish that Celeste was healing, in more ways than one, before I shoved her right into the viper's nest that is Starkhaven politics. Also, Sebastian is smooth as butter when he wants to be, just as he can be an awkward little boy when the story dictates. I love writing him, the facets he shows always surprise me. I have some more Fable fic on the way, both smut and an actual chaptered story, as well as _Aquila_, _Obeisance_, and an as-yet-untitled Grandpa!Malcolm short. As always, Constant Readers, I am happy that you're all enjoying, and the comments you leave never fail to make me smile.

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this chapter:**

_Sedo Pro Tempestas_ means 'the calm before the storm'.


	13. Caeca Invidia Est

**Caeca Invidia Est**

"_Envy is blind." – Livy_

* * *

Sebastian stood on the steps of Arrow's Rest, back straight and with his hands clasped behind him as the first of many elaborate carriages pulled into the courtyard. The horses that pulled the painted and lacquered confections jingled with barding, each horse carrying a full body cloth that was bright with the color of their owner's devices. Some wore feathered crests; others were elegant in their understatement, showing wealth in the cut of the cloth and the embroidery of the crests. He gave a mental shake of his head at the expense, making a note to visit the more elaborate nobility in the future to discuss the appropriation of some of that fortune to help the poorer sections of the city. They wouldn't like it, but then again, they didn't have to – they had pledged to submit to his rule, after all.

Nobles exited the carriages, well fed and freshly-scrubbed in the morning sunlight. They greeted their friends, neighbors, and even rivals as they established a pecking order for the week's event right on the front steps. He heard Fenris shift behind him, the leather of his harness creaking as the elf adjusted his stance. He watched them all, a bland smile on his lips as they formed a line, in order of self-importance.

Maker, he hated this.

Still, he played his part to perfection, born into it long ago. He made nice, bowing over the fleshy wrists of noble mothers and those of their slimmer young daughters, deflecting the simpering with a charming smile as he welcomed his guests. He clasped forearms with a few of the older men; friends of his that had helped him retake the city. He gave a grin as he recognized the broad shoulders of his closest ally, Ser Tobias.

An older man, Tobias had been a loyal retainer to the Vael family before the Flint Company had ripped them from power in Starkhaven. The knight had been the one to train his brothers in swordplay, teaching them various tricks and techniques. Ser Tobias had despaired that Sebastian would show talent for any martial combat skill whatsoever until he had placed a shortbow into the young prince's hands. His grandfather had stepped in from there, molding raw talent into the masterful archer he was today. A genuine smile lit his face as Ser Tobias mounted the steps and clapped Sebastian on the back.

"It's good to see you, lad. You've come into your own now, and have proven me right all along. A man with your compassion was needed here, not the Chantry." Ser Tobias nodded, the sunlight catching his grey hair and turning it to darkened steel as his bushy brows drew down in a scowl. "I tried to reason with your father about sending you away, you know."

"Ah, Tobias, the Chantry instilled me with this compassion," he said, taking the backslap with good grace. He grinned at the older man, noting how the years had weathered his sharp features and mottled his eyes with laugh lines. "I remember being quite the brat, always after you about one thing or another, and playing the worst pranks I could."

"And I could never prove it," said Tobias, giving a hearty guffaw. "Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, and no mistake. Got you into quite a lot of scrapes with the ladies, and _out_ of them just as frequently."

Sebastian grinned. "Well, the Chantry helped me learn to control myself. I came back to Starkhaven with a new sense of balance."

Tobias's dark brown eyes sharpened, and Sebastian knew that he was being measured. "So you have, lad. I only wish your father could see the man you've become."

"I'd happily go back to the Chantry to see them all alive, Tobias." He clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder, changing the subject to avoid that buried sorrow further. "How is your nephew?"

"He's just written this past fortnight. He was accepted as a squire to the King of Ferelden, and seems quite besotted with the Queen. Long reams of parchment trumpeting her virtues. Maker help me, but I hope he doesn't do anything foolish." Tobias shook his head, a wry look on his face.

"Ancel is young, and Elaine Theirin is kind. She won't let him languish in his adoration." Sebastian laughed at the thought of Elaine's face as someone recited sonnets to her beauty. He could see the mixture of amusement and horror with ease. "She'll set the boy straight."

"Maker, I hope so." Tobias shot a look back at the rest of the line, most glaring at him in envy. He gave a perfunctory bow. "I should leave you to your _adoring_ public, your highness."

"Andraste preserve us all, you've grown a sense of _humor_." He clutched at his heart in mock surprise. Tobias snorted at Sebastian's comment, stepping into the wide foyer of Arrow's Rest. "Tobias."

Ser Tobias paused, halfway through the great double doors. "Your highness?"

"I have another guest in the garden that I'd like you to meet later, if you're up for it."

"Always, your highness." Tobias sketched another bow and continued into the dimness of the castle.

Sebastian turned back to the line of his guests, his mind far from his place on the stairs.

* * *

Lord Meginard and his family were one of the last of the guests, pushed back there by the xenophobic natives of the Starkhaven nobility. Sebastian couldn't blame them; from what he had seen of Meginard in the last year and a half, the Orlesian man was cruel to anyone he thought himself above and fawning to anyone who had more political ties. His son, Victor, was more interested in the female attention his dark hair and eyes garnered, drinking his father's money away in the taverns down by the docks. Sebastian had seen more guard reports than he'd care to mention about the eldest Meginard child, complaints and arrests alike.

Colette was behind her father and brother, keeping a respectful step behind the males in her family, as per Orlesian tradition. Her hair was bound up in fat curls, the silken bow a fetching pink swathe through the expanse. While the style suited her, it also made her look far too young for the dress she wore – a confection of creamy pink silk that was cut far too low. Yards of frothy lace hinted at what the cleavage of the dress suggested, and Sebastian kept his eyes locked onto hers, so as not to encourage her.

"Lord Meginard, you and your children are most welcome. I am pleased to see that you got my invitation." Sebastian bent over Colette's wrist as long as propriety demanded, and then released her. She didn't seem put off, edging a little closer. Sebastian heard Fenris shift behind him, and gave a small twitch of his fingers to tell him to stay put.

"I would not have missed your soirée for the world, your highness." Rennault Meginard swept into a deep bow. "I hope that we will be pleasing company for your other guests, especially the Champion and his family."

A rush of blood filled Sebastian's ears, his ire rising at the mention of Carver; he saw the comment for what it was. _And his family_. Meginard would not get away with his veiled interest in Celeste, not if Sebastian got his way. He beat back the possessive flush of anger, clearing his throat to calm himself.

"Of course, Lord Meginard. You are welcome, as I have said. Please enjoy yourselves this week, for it is the first celebration we've hosted here at Arrow's Rest since I retook my family home." He swept an arm out to the side, ushering them inside. "Alice will show you to your rooms, and we'll serve dinner at sundown."

"My thanks again, your highness." Lord Meginard bowed low, as did his son. Colette dropped into a curtsey, platinum curls brushing the tops of her exposed breasts. She lingered behind as her father and brother took their leave, waiting for Sebastian to acknowledge her.

"Madame Colette," he said, knowing what was coming. It had to happen sooner or later. Just his luck that it would start as soon as all the guests were inside. "Is there aught I can aid you with?"

"No, your highness, I was merely going to ask you to walk with me in your garden, should it take your pleasure." She glanced up at him through her lashes, and he would have sworn she dipped lower to show him more of the pale half-moons of her breasts. It was clumsy and artless, and he found himself giving her an indulgent half-smile at the awkward teenage effort.

"I'm afraid I have many more preparations to see to," he said. "Perhaps later this week, should I find the time to get away."

A white lie, the first of many that would be passed around this week until the seventh day, when he made his entrance at the great hall for the start of the masquerade. He would be the consummate host until then, courteous and flirtatious. He bowed over her wrist once again, noting Alice hovering in the doorway.

"Alice will be happy to show you to your quarters," he said again, making sure that the note of dismissal was there. Colette dipped into a curtsey, scurrying off to follow the maid down the hall with her platinum curls bobbing.

He sank his face into his palm, swiping it down his face in minor agitation as he gave a sigh and rolled his shoulders. Fenris gave a small chuckle as he stepped forward, shaking his downy fringe out of his eyes.

"This _was_ your idea, Sebastian."

"Maker, don't remind me. I suppose it would be rude of me to hole myself up in the library with a bottle of brandy until the week is over?"

Fenris smirked. "The women would drag you out of there, kicking and screaming."

"And you would let them, wouldn't you?"

"Just for a bit."

"Ruffian."

"Lightweight."

Sebastian's wry laughter rang through the hall as he and Fenris made their way back to the gardens.

* * *

Celeste watched the carriages pull into the courtyard from her window, even as Carver paced behind her. She stifled a sigh of irritation at her brother, choosing instead to watch how Sebastian greeted his guests. A few got his full attention, and she noted the grey-haired man that clapped him on the back, a genuine smile lighting his features at the greeting.

She hadn't seen him smile like that in years; it lit his whole face from within, his eyes crinkling at the corners and it warmed her to look at it. Old feelings surfaced like a long forgotten memory, and she could almost smell the smoky burn of the incense in the cloister of the Chantry where he worked at copying manuscripts for the library. She swallowed, pressing her forehead to the glass of the window.

Her eyes flicked between him and his guests, noting the Meginard family at last. She did not see him linger over Colette's wrist as he had with hers; somehow it made her heart lighter to know it. She was being foolish, she knew. She had no future with Sebastian, however much he might want it.

"I never thought I would see my sister make calf's eyes at anyone," Carver said, settling into the chair by the window.

"I'm not making calf's eyes, Carver. I was watching what was going on."

"I was looking over your shoulder, Ceelee. You're sighing at him."

She glared at her brother, the small smile he was wearing infuriating in its smugness. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a mage. Would he keep me as a mistress while he marries a noble woman for proper heirs?"

He flinched at the bitterness in her voice. "Ceelee."

"I've become very practical over the past four years, Carver. I know how the world works, and the nobility here would see me in the Circle rather than pulling the strings behind the throne, despite the fact that Sebastian would never allow it anyway. The first whiff of magic would turn it into a riot, with the more vocal of them calling me a blood mage who wanted a seat of power."

"You've managed to keep yourself hidden for years, Ceelee. Why not now?"

"Carver, I was very obviously slinging magic around my first year in Kirkwall. You don't think an enterprising noble with an axe to grind wouldn't jump on that like Cambert on a cat?"

He scowled. "Excuse me for trying to help."

"I – look, I'm sorry, Carver. Things haven't been right for so long, I don't know where to start."

"Oh, I don't know, '_I'm sorry, Sebastian_,' is a start, Ceelee." He mimicked her throaty voice.

She smacked his shoulder. "I hate it when you do that."

"Which is why I do it."

"Bastard."

"Whiner."

"Oaf."

"Squirt."

She laughed, ruffling his dark hair in affection. He scowled a bit at the attention, for appearance's sake, then pulled her into a one-armed hug.

"You two are going to have to get this sorted between you, Ceelee." He looked up at her, concern in his eyes. "He does care for you, in his way. He spent his time looking for you after you left. Even when I gave up, he kept looking."

She sighed. "I know. We talked a bit today, but it feels like I'm walking on a pond in winter that hasn't frozen completely. One wrong step and I'll drown."

He frowned, squeezing her about the waist. "Whenever you're ready to leave, we can go."

"Carver, I'm not going back to Kirkwall, and I'm not going to get into an argument with you about it." She held up her hands to forestall the angry words she could see forming in her brother's face. "And I can't leave until I'm well enough to travel, I gave my word. I've broken enough promises."

"What about the family? I could use your help around the estate, Ceelee. Bodahn and Sandal left two years ago, and it's not the same. A big, empty house." He gave her a hopeful look. "Your cooking is better than mine, too."

"Dolt. Why not hire help?" She ruffled his hair again. "Besides, you never liked my cooking before. What's the real reason?"

"I just…all right, I just don't like the idea of you stuck here if he has some sort of nefarious design on you."

She burst into laughter. "Nefarious designs? Oh, Carver, you haven't been reading anything Varric's been writing, have you?"

"So what if I have?" Carver looked grumpy at the teasing, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head, darkening his expression even more.

"Because sometimes Varric is in love with the thesaurus, and it sounds silly coming from you." She disengaged from her brother, returning to the window. The carriages were filing out of the courtyard, the last of the stable boys disappearing into the darkened building. "I should make this right before I leave, or at least try to."

"Where will you go, Ceelee?" Carver stood behind her, reflected in the glass of the window. "Where in Thedas will you go when your family, your home, is in Kirkwall?"

"The last time I left, I started walking, and the direction didn't matter. I didn't sleep until I dropped. Now? I don't know."

"You'll let me know where you're going this time, at least?" His brows drew down in a worried frown. She nodded, taking his hand. He squeezed it, standing next to her at the window for a long moment.

"I'm going to do better, Carver. It's time I rectified my mistakes."

It was another promise she intended to keep.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a simple affair, although there was no lack of food. Cheeses, braised lamb and fresh baked bread graced the table, along with the spring harvest's first greenery. Wine and ale flowed, the guests eating with gusto even as they tried to outmaneuver their peers in conversation.

The suppers would become more and more elaborate as the week wore on, all of the victuals paid for out of Sebastian's own pocket. He took pride in growing the majority of the savory vegetables himself, a small herd of cattle owned by the crown providing milk and cheese to the table, and meat bought from local butchers with his gold steamed in rich sauces. He had instructed that the leftovers would be distributed amongst the poor at the Chantry, knowing the waste that went on at most of these parties. Sebastian was determined to change how the game was played – at least while he chose to play it.

He sat at the high table, Celeste at his right and Carver to his left. Varric sat on Carver's other side, chatting with Tobias. The two had become quite interested in each other's stories – Sebastian would swear that he'd heard his name more than once, and despaired that his sordid history would be all over the Marches a second time. Varric's special 'touches' wouldn't help at all, either. He sighed, but resolved to bear it, just as he would bear the backbiting over the week. Fenris sat with Tobias as well; he got along with the old retainer, especially when they recounted war stories.

Celeste was quiet during the meal, and he risked a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was eating well, looking healthier than she had when he had first found her near his lodge almost a month ago. He was pleased, and kept up a running conversation with Carver about the Red Irons and his plans for their future. The meal was pleasant, and Celeste even shot him a small smile when he paid her a compliment.

He glanced out over the trestle tables set in rows along the great halls. The nobility ate, drank, and were merry, treating this as a long-missed event around Starkhaven. He couldn't remember the last time his parents had held a masquerade; he must have been younger than fifteen, at least. He remembered sneaking into the kitchens and stealing sweets with his brothers, masks askew and giggling like the hellions they had been. It was so long ago, but the memory rose, fresh in his mind.

"Copper for your thoughts," Celeste said, leaning on her hand as the last of the plates were whisked away.

He looked over at her, lips lifting with a slight quirk. "Remembering the trouble my brothers and I would get into, is all. We were quite the little pack of brats."

"I can't see you as anything but a well-behaved little boy," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, the Chantry helped with that image, I'm sure. I was trouble as a boy, and even more so as a young man." His eyes flicked over her form, subtle enough to make her wonder if he'd meant it. "I had a lot to learn before I became the man I am today."

She nodded. "Everyone changes, for better or worse. I'm glad you remained true to your people, though. You were needed here."

"Aye, I was." He sipped more wine from his goblet, the liquid cooling and sweet on his tongue. "You changed, too."

"I know," she said, looking away. "I owe you an apology."

He paused, scenting dangerous ground. "For what?"

"For running away before I could make things right." She still wouldn't meet his eyes, and he resisted the urge to reach over and take her chin in his hand. "I did you a disservice by trying to escape. You never held me prisoner."

"I tried not to make it feel like prison, Celeste. I just wanted to see you safe." _I still do._

"Carver told me you searched for me."

"We all did. Some of us just believed you were alive longer than others."

"We need to talk," she said, looking up at him at last.

"We do." He nodded, hope warming in his chest.

"After this…party you're throwing?" She made a vague gesture at the nobility chattering away throughout the hall. "I would speak to you without this weighing on your mind."

"I would like that." He twirled the stem of his goblet in his long, square-tipped fingers. "I would like that very much."

She nodded, excusing herself from the table. He watched her go, the torchlight playing on her hair as she made her way back to her chambers. He was making progress, with his companions' help. They were little steps, these concessions that she was wrong, but they were steps nonetheless. He only prayed that they would be enough.

* * *

A/N: All right, so the party has officially started. We'll get more actual noble snark in the next chapter, but for now I'm wiped out. No translation at the bottom for this chapter - it's already at the top. We get to see a little more of Celeste healing - hashing things out with Carver was cathartic in more ways than one for her, and we'll see bits and pieces of that conversation as it becomes pertinent to the story. Contrary to what he thinks about himself, Sebastian is a patient man when it matters. All will be resolved in the end. Trying to work through burn out is hard, though. I may take a few days off - so don't fret if you don't see an immediate update.

A quick note about the celebration: The nobility of Starkhaven used the week long party to air grievances with each other and their ruler in generations past. The mask element was added somewhere along the way - anonymity to hide an unpopular opinion, perhaps? - and it evolved into a masquerade party over the years.

As always, thanks for reading,

~Lywinis


	14. Acta Non Verba

**Acta Non Verba**

* * *

The week before the masquerade filled Sebastian's days with more work than he had done since he rebuilt Starkhaven from the embattled ruins it had been four years prior. Each noble had an axe to grind; some were petty, requiring only a ruling on his part, others were genuine matters of distress that required more thought. These he set aside and pondered in the afternoon as he stood in his study overlooking the gardens. Nobles wandered in and around the hedgerows, chatting. He recognized power plays when he saw them, and saw that a lot of the old alliances he remembered still held strong. Celeste could be seen moving among them at times, nodding and speaking with them for a polite moment before seeking solitude under the hidden apple tree she favored.

His days settled into a routine. In the morning, he heard matters between feuding nobles, deciding everything from land boundaries to brokering marriages. He set tax policy anew, broke apart two feuding cattle banns with the threat that he would revert _both _of their lands back to the crown, and sat through no less than twelve different versions of merchant nobility trying to rob each other blind without getting caught in their own machinations.

In the afternoon, he retreated to his library to nurse a headache with some tea and a longing for Celeste to rub the stiffness from his shoulders and neck. He hid away until supper, where he seated those he needed to speak with at the high table after the first night. He noted that Ser Tobias and Carver kept Celeste close, to his approval, even though he could not seat them again at the high table.

He waited three days before he introduced her to Tobias. The older knight had taken a shine to her, as Sebastian had known he would. He often sat and spoke with Celeste under that tree, entertaining her where Sebastian could not; Sebastian's own jealousy of her time was assuaged at the fact that the old retainer was doing it for him. Ser Tobias was a perfect gentleman, regaling her with stories of his own youth and challenging her education in strategy as he bested her in chess. Sebastian watched a lot of these matches from the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he decided how he was to run his principality in the coming summer.

By the fourth day, he was ready to tear his hair out, once again beset by Lord Meginard about the taxes on exporting goods to Orlais. He at last put his foot down.

"My lord, I will not be bullied in my own court about taxes I have set for a very specific reason!" he said, his voice clipped. "For the last four years, every bushel of grain has gone back into the bellies of the people, to keep them fed through the winter. Now you wish to export any spare grain that we manage to produce so that you may regain your foothold into Empress Celene's court, regardless of the needs of the people of Starkhaven. The _reason_ the taxes are so high is to discourage this in these times of hardship. I will not lower the taxes, and this is the end of the discussion."

"As your highness says, of course," said Meginard, sweeping into a low bow. "But one wonders about the grain earmarked for the Ferelden coast? Is that not exportation of goods?"

"That is not an export. That is a promise being kept, a bargain struck with the Hero of Ferelden and her husband, in return for aid. It is also none of your business where those pallets of grain go, because they come from my personal fields, taking food from no table but my own."

"Surely there is no need to send so much, at least this year?" Meginard said, a wheedling note creeping into his voice. "Think of the coin that you could make, your highness. I would personally deliver the first pallet myself, and deliver all the profits to you."

"There is no discussion to be had here, Lord Meginard. I care nothing for the profits, or for making sure Celene has bread on her table – she can afford to grow her own grain, instead of setting aside those large, open fields where she keeps her horseflesh. Unlike the impoverished people of Ferelden, the Empress of Orlais has an option. I made a promise to Queen Elaine Theirin that I would deliver her grain to feed her people in exchange for military aid."

"The Empress would be most indebted to you, your highness." Meginard unrolled a parchment, stamped with the royal seal of Orlais. Sebastian's lip curled as he took the proffered parchment, scanning it with a cursory glance. "She would like to form an alliance, stronger than any those Ferelden dog lords could offer you."

The piece of parchment in his hand made a sharp crinkle as he crushed it in his palm. His nostrils flared in unsuppressed rage, his eyes like chips of ice in his face. "'Dog lords'? '_Dog lords_?' Not only do you insult my allies, Lord Meginard, you insult guests in my very house. The Champion of Kirkwall and his sister are native to Ferelden."

"I meant no offense–"

"As we have so often discussed in the many, many meetings I have had with you, you _did_ mean offense, you are simply backpedaling when you realize your sentiments do not match my own. You will cease any and all mention of Ferelden in my presence, or I shall cut out your tongue myself." He stood, tossing the parchment into the fire. Meginard took a half-step toward it, but a warning look from Sebastian quelled it. "You have no right to dictate to me what I should do with grain in my own country. _I _rule here, not Empress Celene. You would do well to remember that."

"You are throwing away a great opportunity, your highness!" Meginard fidgeted, wringing his hands. "The Empress's offer was backed by the Divine Herself! We could offer you so much more–"

Sebastian slammed his hands down on his desk, making the inkpot rattle. "_ENOUGH! _I am not as backwater as you think I might be, Lord Meginard. I know for a fact that the Divine cares for one thing and one thing only: Herself. Where were the armies of the Divine when I wanted to retake Starkhaven? Where was Her unreachable arm when the rightful heir to my parent's legacy cried out for retribution? Parents, who, I might remind you, were some of the most pious of Her flock, following in the family tradition of sending a child to the Chantry for instruction. They were in _Orlais_, drinking wine and laughing as I struggled to gain enough forces to take the city. I know, for I was there."

He stalked around the desk, his eyes fixed on the now-cowering nobleman. "Ferelden was the _only_ nation to offer aid – a thousand soldiers, more than they could spare at the time. I promised them grain in return. I am the Prince of Starkhaven, and I _do not break my promises_. Am I understood?"

Meginard swallowed, and Sebastian knew that the man had never seen him so angry. "Wh-what shall I tell the Empress, then?"

"Tell her that she will get no grain from my lands, not now, and not ever. I would sooner see her favorite mare grace her table than bread made from the labors of my people. Tell her to eat her horses, for she will get no grain from me."

Meginard fled, his footsteps ringing through the hallway. Sebastian canceled the rest of his meetings for the day, sinking into his chair to seethe and watch the parchment curl to blackened fragments in the fire.

* * *

Celeste enjoyed Ser Tobias's company, the older knight proving to be a witty and gracious companion. There weren't many who could best her in chess, either, and so they shared a good-natured rivalry, trading taunts back and forth across the board as they wove complex attacks and defenses. The days passed, and she felt more than saw Sebastian's eyes on her. She often saw him staring out the window, his eyes on the garden in the afternoon. The grounds were large, considering it was an island, but she knew he sought her out, just as her eyes sought him in a crowd of nobles.

She spent many of the week's afternoons curled up in her rooms with a book, bidding Ser Tobias goodbye after the noon meal. She spoke with the nobles, polite conversation about their families and hers, but never more in-depth than that. For once, she understood Carver's annoyance with her prowess and renown in those early days in Kirkwall – she could not take a step here without a lady asking if she would speak to her brother on their daughter's behalf. One even asked for her son, which was something she would hold over Carver's head for a long while, if she had her way.

She passed by Sebastian's study often on her way to her brother's rooms. She could hear the murmur of voices, Sebastian's brogue among them. Even among the nobility in Starkhaven, his was a distinct voice. Perhaps it was because she had so many memories of it.

Perhaps she was going mad.

She never intruded on his business, knowing he was forging alliances that would serve him well later on. Even on the fourth day, when she heard him shouting and Lord Meginard scurried from the room, almost knocking her over, did she intrude. It was not her place, and she avoided the half-open door, resisting the temptation to settle him with conversation. She would wait, and speak with him as promised, after the masquerade he had planned.

The last few days before the masquerade were a frenzy of activity. Tailors and seamstresses ran hither and yon, pins in their mouths and swathes of fabric draped over their arms. Celeste had been planning to work up something for the ball herself, though her sewing skills were rusty. She was surprised when Alice swept in the day before the dance, a garment draped over her arm and a long wooden box in her hands. She stood, bemused, as Alice spread the dress over the bed before handing the box to her.

"A gift, my lady." Alice's eyes twinkled, and she wondered if Sebastian had anything to do with this. "Not a clue as to who it's from, just a note saying that I was to deliver it up to you."

The dress was beautiful, a scintillating mass of blue-green silk, topped with a dark blue silk corset that was set with ribbons of interlacing blue and green, the colors complimenting her skin tone and the dress. She set the box on the bed, lifting the wooden lid, and caught her breath.

A pair of slippers with tiny gemstones set in the toes winked up at her, but her attention was caught by the mask that rested just above them. Blue-green feathers swept up into a set of fanned plumage, the feathers coming to rounded tips set with darkened color, almost like the eyes of some otherworldly creature. As she picked up the mask, she realized that the longer feathers were attached to a set of combs, meant for her hair. Smaller, no less colorful feathers surrounded the half-mask, which was set with sequins that winked in the sunlight that poured into the window.

Alice stopped, staring at the feathers. "I've not seen a beast with plumage like that."

"I have," said Celeste, brushing a fingertip across one of the 'eyes'. "The Antivans call them peacocks, and they're raised by the royal court as pets. Nasty things. They walk the streets of Antiva, hissing at anything that moves. The males have this sort of plumage, but the females are much more demure, nesting with dark brown feathers."

"Maker's mercy, just like a man, then," said Alice, laughing. "Showing all this color, just to attract a woman."

"Indeed," said Celeste, her lips quirking into a grin. "I hope there aren't any Antivans staying at the castle. This would be a huge slap in the face."

"No, my lady, I haven't received any word that there would be Antivan dishes served. The only foreigners we have, begging your pardon, are you and your brother as well as the Meginards." Alice touched one of the feathers with a tentative finger. "This is beautiful, though."

"It is." Celeste replaced the mask in the box, shutting the lid with care. "Well, I suppose I have a costume for the ball, after all. You would probably have cringed at what I would have mocked up. My sewing is awful."

Alice patted her arm. "Himself would not see you without something to wear, my lady. He's a good sort, he is."

"Yes," she said, her fingers resting on the box. "He is."

* * *

Sebastian paced, his long legs carrying him across his bedroom in a few steps as he waited for the appointed hour. Fenris eyed him from under the plain black mask he wore, the burnished black of his armor glinting in the fading sunlight from the window. He ignored his friend for the moment, trying to think of anything he might have missed. He could not think of anything, and the idea that the night might not go as planned niggled at him, but he turned as the last rays of the sun slipped behind the battlements to pick up the mask that lay on the dresser.

A falcon, fierce and proud, stared back at him, the feathers gathered from his own aerie. He slipped the mask over his face, the stylized beak sliding down to rest across his distinctive nose. He looked in the mirror as he tied the silken sash of the mask, taking in the effect.

A worked leather jerkin showed the broad lines of his chest, open at the throat to reveal the crisp white shirt beneath the dark leather, a sharp contrast to the tanned skin beneath. Silver buckles and clasps held the jerkin closed, matching the silver filigree that wound around the waist of the garment. Similar filigree wound down the soft doeskin trousers that hugged his legs, accentuating the line and curve of the muscle as they disappeared into calf-length boots. A wide brown belt cinched the ensemble to his slim waist, the device that fluttered from his belt the only bright color in his costume. His fingers brushed the crossed arrows of Starkhaven for a moment, before he turned to Fenris.

"Better to get this over with," he said, the excitement ringing through his blood belying the words.

Fenris smirked at him, tying back his hair once more. "You live for thwarting noble plans these days, don't deny it."

"Perhaps," Sebastian said, a chuckle in his words.

They made their way to the great hall, the strains of music wafting to their ears the closer they got. The murmur of voices could be heard over the clink of glassware, and all hushed as he approached the door. There was no fanfare as he strode through the archway, his head held high and twisting this way and that, seeking his prey like his costume would suggest. He paused on the landing, his smile wide beneath the half-mask.

"I thank you for coming to stay with me for this week, and I am glad that we got a lot of work done in between the play." A chuckle rippled through the crowd. "But now, as tradition dictates, the last night is strictly for us to enjoy ourselves. Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends."

A smattering of applause sounded as he descended the steps into the hall, greeting those he knew. His eyes were sharp, however, and caught sight of a mask he recognized, for he had ordered it and its twin made. The falcon bobbed through the crowd, the woman laughing at a compliment paid to her by a man in a velvet Mabari mask. She turned her head, and he caught sight of platinum tresses spilling down her back in an elaborate plait.

This wasn't right.

Before he could backpedal and regroup, she spotted him, moving through the crowd toward him. He stiffened as she touched his arm, smiling up at him through her lashes.

"We are in matching costumes, _non_? What will they think?" Colette's soft voice was for his ears alone, even as she grew bolder and laced her fingers through his. "I think we make a perfect fit."

"Child, you play a dangerous game with a man who has lost his patience with your family," he said, disengaging his hand with a sharp jerk. "That mask was not meant for you."

She made a soft moue with her lower lip, pouting at him as she tucked her rejected fingers in her skirts. "I play no game, but you do. Why else would you send me this mask, if not to please me?"

"I sent you _nothing_, child." He knew she was getting angry at him for his scornful remarks, but he was angry himself, and could not help it. "That mask was for someone else."

"The dog lord woman?" Colette gave a sniff laced with disdain, as only an Orlesian could. He ground his teeth. "I am far better suited to this mask, and a place at your side, highness. I could show you things your Ferelden whore could not."

"You will hold your tongue, chit. You know nothing about her, and you would be wise not to bring my anger to bear on yourself." He was rigid in anger, his displeasure plain even without the mask. "Your father's machinations have no place in my court, and I will see you all gone from Starkhaven as soon as possible."

He saw her eyes widen in fear. "But–"

He spun on his heel, stalking towards the long table set up at the back of the hall. He prayed she wouldn't follow him; he would throw the Meginards out on their ears, and that would shame him more than simply being angry. He took a steadying breath along with the goblet offered to him, sipping his wine and avoiding the eyes of the matriarchs in the hall. The last thing he needed was another mother pressing her daughter's case right at this moment.

The music started, the floor clearing for couples to begin working their way out into a lively dance. Swirls of silk and color assaulted the senses as the dancers revolved around the floor, talking and laughing. He scowled into his goblet, searching the crowd for Ser Tobias or Carver as an excuse to avoid dancing.

A touch at his elbow made his lip curl. "_What._"

"Sebastian?" The familiar voice made him pause. His head gave a slow turn, to see Celeste. There was no mistaking that impish, ruddy hair, even when it was pinned back with combs, feathers adorning her costume. Her eyes were worried beneath her half-mask.

"Forgive me," he said, straightening. He caught her hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles. She gave his hand a small squeeze in acknowledgement, her lower lip between her teeth. "Unpleasant conversation has made me forget my manners."

"I saw from across the hall. What was that about?" She glanced at Colette, who was now dancing with another nobleman and shooting Sebastian a death stare. It would not surprise him were she to stick her tongue out as well. He gave a half-shrug at Celeste.

"A misunderstanding. It doesn't matter now." He pressed his lips to her knuckles once more. "Come and dance with me."

"The first of the evening?" She hesitated.

"All of them this evening," he said, a small smile on his face.

"Your nobles will talk."

"Let them. I want them to see where my heart lies." It was a risk, and his heart hammered in his ribs when she looked away. "I want them to know that Sebastian Vael chooses love over duty, heirs be damned."

"Sebastian…" He squeezed her fingers, and was rewarded with a small smile. "You're incorrigible."

"Absolutely awful," he agreed, his tone light. "Persistent, too. Come, dance with me."

This time, when he tugged on her hand, she followed. They swept onto the dance floor to the low murmur of the nobles in the room, all of them noticing his dance partner, as was his intent. The musicians in the corner saw the change in the undercurrent of the mood, and struck up a lively waltz. She settled her hand on his shoulder, and he took her other, his hand a possessive mark on her hip for all the world to see, branding her his. They started the steps slow, Celeste needing a reminder of how it went; soon, however, they picked up the pace, and Sebastian twirled her across the floor.

She was breathless and laughing, and his grin was fit to split his face, he was sure. The room receded, the swirling mass of color and sound narrowing to a pinpoint in his vision. He was here, she was here, and there were no more walls between them. It was as bare and naked as if they were making love, and yet somehow far more intimate, this dance on a shaky foundation of peace.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, leaning close so that his breath tickled her ear. He was rewarded with goosebumps across her bare shoulders.

"Hear what?" She looked up at him, her dark green eyes clear as she looked at him in puzzlement.

"That grinding sound. It's the sound of every woman in the room eating their livers. They would all kill to be in your place." He grinned at her. "I'd have no other. They see the prince, but you remember the stuttering Chantry brother who had no idea how to go about becoming prince in the first place."

"Sebastian, you hardly stuttered," she said, her tone light as she glanced away. "You sang the Chant beautifully, if I recall right."

"Only because I knew you were listening." The song's last strains ended, to a light scattering of applause through the crowd. They had slowed to a stop, and now he brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing them in reverence.

Despite the unpleasant surprise of the evening earlier, the rest of the night went well. Sebastian kept Celeste at his side, talking and laughing with his retainers, even as her hand rested in his. She was free to leave at any time, but she stood by him, and that warmed him to his core as he watched the play of emotion on her face. Many noblewomen came up, each asking him for a dance, but each time he would refuse with a polite smile and a squeeze of her fingers. Two or three of the noblemen were brave enough to approach, only to be warned away with a fierce look from him.

He had staked his claim, and all of them now knew it. He would have it no other way, as he looked down into her face as the final dance of the night ended, the wee hours of the morning drawing nigh. She smiled, her face flushed and her eyes laughing in a way he hadn't seen since he'd been in Kirkwall. A shred of the old Celeste was shining through, and it did his heart no end of good to see it. He bowed low over her wrist, his manners still impeccable.

"Thank you for being such a charming companion this evening, _my lady_," he said, adding emphasis to his last words that she didn't miss, if the darkening pink of her cheeks was any indication.

"Likewise, your highness," she said, a small smile playing about her mouth.

"I look forward to our talk," he said. "Tomorrow after lunch?"

"I would…I'd like that," she said, the heat in her eyes unmistakable. He felt a responding surge of heat, one that would burn him if he let it, but he kept his formality in check. He escorted her to the hallway that led to her room, the other nobles breaking off in twos and threes to do the same. She paused at the archway, regarding him with an unreadable expression.

"Good night, Celeste. Sleep well."

"And you, Sebastian." She ran her tongue over her lips for a moment, as if gearing up to say something else, but then she turned, moving down the darkened corridor to her room.

All things considered, he would chalk this night up as a success. He made his way to his chambers, Fenris falling into step next to him. He knew his grin was smug by the way his friend and bodyguard pursed his lips, but at this moment, nothing could dissuade him from that victorious smile. Fenris said good night after his cursory check of the chamber, rolling his eyes at Sebastian's good humor. Sebastian tossed his mask on his dressing table, stripping down for sleep.

Even as he drifted off to sleep, the heat in her eyes haunted him, a promise he hoped she intended to keep.

* * *

He woke before dawn with a weight straddling his hips. Still muzzy from sleep, he gave a soft groan as he felt the warmth of another body in his bed. Hands stroked his chest, his stomach, and a pair of hips wriggled against him, his body responding before his brain became aware of the whole situation.

"Celeste…?" His hands reached out, and found well-fleshed hips, hips that rocked forward even as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Soft hands pushed his away, and he gripped the fingers, seeking familiar callouses. There were none, and he opened his eyes, straining to see in the dim pre-dawn light.

A muttered voice greeted his ears as a curtain of hair descended upon him. "_Maudite vache…_I will show her that I am not to be outdone."

Lips pressed against his, and he pushed her away, fully awake now. Colette Meginard landed with a thump on the tick beside him, milky white curves flashing in the dim light. She scrambled toward him again, but a rough hand on her shoulder made her utter a cry of pain.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice gritty with sleep. She pouted when her efforts to straddle him again were met with a stern look and an upheld hand. "No more of that. You will answer my question, and then you will leave."

"I am here to give myself to you," she said, staring at him as if he'd gone mad. "I thought this was obvious, _non_?"

"You can take whatever shreds of pride you have and leave, Madame Meginard. If you were trying to repair the damage your father has done, this was not the way to go about it."

"I will tell the whole castle that you have had your way with me." Her brows drew down in a scowl. "My honor has been besmirched."

His shocked laugh caused her scowl to deepen. "And you think that will _work_? Madame, I have not taken a woman to my bed in my entire four year rule, save one. You will not be the second, nor will any other."

He pointed to the door. "Get you gone before you ruin your own reputation past salvage. Even if I _were_ in the mood to ravage you, there would be nothing you could do about it anyway."

"My father is nobility!"

"_In Orlais_. He was thrown out of Orlais on his ear, and the entire population of Starkhaven knows it. I have catered to you out of respect for your father's pride, but now, I cannot look past this insult. Here, you are nothing but a merchant's daughter."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"You're right, Madame, I wouldn't. A harsher man might, but not I. Get your clothes and get out."

"I…wore no clothes." Her voice was very small. Sebastian sighed at the note of hope he heard. "Perhaps I could wear one of your shirts back to my chambers?"

"No." He folded his arms. "I'll not give you any excuse to claim I laid hands on your maidenly virtue. Get you gone, then, as naked as you were when you came in."

"But–"

He lost patience then. Hauling her up by the arm, he disentangled her from the coverlet, marching her to the door as bare as he was. The latch rattled as he flung to door wide, tossing her into the hallway in nothing but her milky white skin. He glared down at her, his nakedness no deterrent to his anger.

"I want your family on the road out of Starkhaven by the time I come down for breakfast." He slammed the door, leaving her in the darkness of the hallway with the click of the key in the latchplate.

* * *

Celeste was awake before dawn, brushing her hair as she prepared to face the day. She hadn't slept much, but it hadn't seemed to matter. She was alive with nervous energy, sparks drifting down her nerves. Only her iron control kept the sparks on the inside, otherwise they'd be dancing on her skin. She swallowed, remembering the look on his face last night.

He had been so happy. She had been running for so long that she'd forgotten what it was to be in a place she considered home. It was frightening how easy it was to consider waking up here every morning with Sebastian, facing the trials and tribulations the principality would have. She wouldn't need to do much, either – from what she had seen, he had it well in hand. He would still ask for her advice, she was sure, but the day to day business of the castle and the town around it moved on whether he was here or not, it seemed.

A curse in a high, feminine soprano broke her from her reverie. She stood, her curiosity piqued, and opened the door a crack, just in time to see Colette Meginard fleeing down the hallway, her long blonde hair flying behind her like a banner of retreat. The girl was crying, clutching her arms around her bare breasts, the milky white skin on display for any and all who happened to be looking down the hallway to see.

She was running back in the direction of the great hall, towards her room at the end of the hallway. The brush slipped from her fingers, landing with a clatter on the stonework as the cold realization hit her, chilling her to her toes.

The girl had been fleeing Sebastian's room.

Celeste felt a guilty stab at the knowledge, because she had fled in almost the exact same manner two weeks ago. The guilt was overwhelmed by hurt then, and she felt it ball in her chest, hot and angry. She threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, stamping into her boots in a blind rush. She paused at the door.

Where could she turn?

Carver would insist on trying to beat Sebastian into a pulp, and while the idea had merit, she didn't think she could look Sebastian in the eye. Varric was also out, because he would want to know the hows, whys and whats about it. She didn't want to explain. She bit her thumbnail in thought. There was only one possible ally she could have in this, and he hated her.

Still, all she could do was try. She made her way down familiar hallways until she found the door; until this point in her stay at Starkhaven, she had never had reason to knock on it.

Now she did, pounding her fist on the wood in fury. She waited, not feeling the stream of tears pouring down her face. She pounded again when he didn't immediately answer. A gruff expletive from inside the room caused her to wait again, tapping her foot as she looked around for anyone watching.

Fenris cracked open the door, green eyes still groggy from sleep until he realized who it was. The eyes sharpened in wariness as he stared at her, his brow quirked. She took a deep breath, clearing her thoughts before she spoke, her voice laced with deadly sincerity.

"If you have any fond memories of the friendship we once shared, you will get me out of Starkhaven _right now_."

* * *

A/N: Don't you just hate it when wires cross? Miscommunication is one of the worst things that can happen. The rest of it is downhill from here - only a couple of chapters left to hit the plot points I want to hit. I've been issued a challenge to finish this before June 30th, with extra incentive to finish a few days early. You know me and a challenge, Constant Readers. I haven't said no yet. Thanks for sticking with me, and as always, thanks for reading.

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this Chapter:**

_Acta Non Verba _means 'actions, not words'.


	15. Tacet

**Tacet**

* * *

Fenris looked at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Celeste fidgeted, her heart pounding as he looked at her for a long moment.

"Have you more clothes besides those?" he asked.

"None that I would want to take. I just want to go, please, Fenris." She flicked her eyes up and down the hallway, the lightening sky making her aware of how little time she had.

"Fetch your hound, then, and meet me at the stables. We leave in ten minutes." The door shut in her face with a click, and she spun about, pelting down the hallway. She made it to her room without being seen, waking Cambert with a soft click of her tongue.

"Come on, lad, we're going for a ride." The Mabari was up in an instant, stubby tail wagging. She made the hand signal for quiet, and he settled down before he could get to barking. They crept through the castle, avoiding the guard posts when they could, until they made it to the foyer and the small side door that led through the kitchen. Within moments they were across the courtyard and in the stables.

Fenris awaited them, his mare saddled and ready. A large, voluminous cloak was in his arms, and he held it out to her without a word. She threw it on, pulling the hood low over her distinctive hair. He pulled a thin loop of cord from his pouch, looking at her.

"Your wrists."

"Why?" Her eyes narrowed under the cloak's hood. "So you can turn me over to the Circle once we're out of here?"

"Fool woman, how do you propose to get out unless I form a ruse? If you have a better idea, then speak." He held the loop out, a long-suffering look on his face. "If I wanted to turn you over to the Circle, I would have done so the first day you were here."

She grit her teeth and held out her wrists, knowing he was right. The loop slipped over her hands, Fenris tightening it just enough to look secure. He bound her wrists in front of her, pulling her elbows back behind her and binding them together as well. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. He left a length of rope loose; she realized it was a lead after a moment.

He took the reins, guiding the horse out into the open area of the courtyard. He leapt up, settling into the saddle as he clicked the mare into a fast walk, pulling her along behind him. She had no choice but to run, and so she did, struggling to keep up. The guards at the gate stopped him, looking at her cloaked form.

"Ho, Fenris, problems inside?"

"Another assassin," said Fenris, as if this were an everyday occurrence. "We thought the Crows had gone quiet for a few months, but it seems they just got clever. Sending a woman to do the work of a killer, very appropriate."

He gave a jerk on the rope, causing her to hiss as the loop around her wrists tightened. "I'm to take this one into the woods and dispose of her."

"The woods? Isn't that a bit far?" The guard stepped forward, but stopped at Fenris's glare.

"Fool. Would you have the rest of the silly nobles inside traumatized by the knowledge that a Crow was in their very midst? His highness is rooting out who paid her now, and will have the culprit caught. We don't need a panic aiding the villain's escape."'

"And the hound?" The guard gestured at Cambert, who wagged his tail and gave a conversational bark.

"Have you ever seen a Mabari chase down a man?" Fenris asked, his eyes glinting cold. "If she runs, he will run her down."

"Of course, ser. I didn't mean to question your orders." The guard stepped back, his nervousness around the elf apparent. "Good hunting."

"Of course." Fenris gave a grin that was all teeth and no humor. "Keep this quiet, mind you. I don't want to deal with screaming, fainting nobles when I get back."

"Aye, ser."

He jerked the rope once more, sending her sprawling against the mare's flank. The guards laughed, coarse in their humor as she turned her head away from the scent of horseflesh. Her sharp eyes caught sight of Rennault and Colette Meginard climbing into a carriage. The girl's eyes were still puffy from her tears earlier, and Lord Meginard looked stern as he helped his daughter up the steps into the seat. The realization of what must have happened struck her.

They were leaving in shame, paid for silence with gold from Sebastian's coffers. Victor Meginard mounted a horse, preparing to ride alongside the carriage, and his lips had thinned to a disappointed line. Anger swirled up, hot and thick, and she felt the iron grip she held on her will loosen, small crackles of electricity running across her hands and arms, still hidden by the cloak, but not for long.

She struggled to maintain control, but the anger and betrayal made a formidable combination. How dare he? How could she have trusted him? She knew better. She would burn them all, incinerate the keep. She would–

A rough hand on her shoulder made her stagger as she felt the magic receding, clearing her mind and causing her to sag. Fenris shook her, sending her stumbling against his horse again.

"Watch where your eyes wander, assassin. You'll not find sympathy in the eyes of your targets." Fenris, to his credit, was keeping the ruse intact. "Come, run to your death."

He clicked the horse into a trot, jerking Celeste behind him. She thought she felt Rennault's eyes upon her as she struggled to keep up, but she ran, heedless of the Meginards now. The hood hid her face, keeping the rising sun from her eyes as she was forced into a lope by the punishing pace that Fenris set. When they got to the bridge, he hauled her up, tossing her over the saddle like a bag of grain.

"You almost earned yourself a sword in the gut, mage." His voice was full of the disdain she remembered, but she was far too tired to muster any indignation. She lay there, limp, as he urged his horse forward.

The guards nodded at his curt explanation, eyeing her as she kept her head down and concentrated on her breathing. She was almost out, and that was what mattered. She watched the streets of the inner noble quarter pass, saw Cambert running alongside the horse, his tongue lolling from his mouth. They passed through the marketplace without incident, the guards once again accepting his lie as she lay across the saddle.

When the rolling grasslands around Starkhaven came into view, he allowed her to slip off the horse, hopping down to untie her arms and hands. She rubbed her wrists, feeling the prickle of pins and needles as the blood rushed back into the limbs. She turned to Fenris, who was watching her, his lips pursed.

"Thank you, Fenris." The last olive branch she offered would be to him, the friend she had abandoned. "You'll not see me again, as promised."

"We're not there yet," he said. He climbed back onto the mare, holding out his hand. "If I go back now, they will ask questions. I will take you to the woods."

She accepted his help, swinging up into the saddle behind him. He clucked to the horse, sending her into a gallop, the pace eating ground. Cambert ran along behind, keeping pace with ease. The treeline began its gradual rise as it grew closer, and Fenris kept his eyes on it, silence reigning in the chill morning air. She held onto his waist, her face turned away from him as thoughts frizzed through her mind, broken images that only served to strengthen her resolve.

He slowed to a trot as they neared the treeline. He found the trail he was looking for, the mare picking her way through the familiar path. Celeste realized that she was being taken back to Sebastian's lodge, and she made to slip off the mare's back. Her hands were seized by a gauntlet, and he held onto her, preventing her escape.

"You will need supplies before you go haring off on your own, otherwise you will just end up back at the castle," he said. His voice was rough, and he allowed the mare to canter into the yard of the lodge on her own before halting her. "Staying here is safest. No one knows of the lodge's location."

"Why?" she asked as he allowed her to dismount at last.

"Because I hold 'fond memories', and I want you gone for good." He regarded her with cold eyes. "Save for killing you, this is the best way. You are still weak from the draining, and so you will need rest. The stable will do – it will keep you out of sight."

He tossed her a saddle blanket. "That should do until I can return. I will be back as fast as I am able."

She gave a slow nod, wobbling on her feet. "Thank you for your help, Fenris."

"Thank me by staying gone this time." He wheeled the mare around, making his way down the trail again. He left her standing in the yard, holding the blanket. Cambert wagged his tail and looked up at her.

"Well, lad, you know the drill." She stroked his head, and he gave another of his conversational barks. "Come on, let's go have a nap."

The stables were dim in the afternoon light, but the hay piles were still sweet-smelling and welcoming as she spread the blanket out on one. A headache pounded at the base of her skull, one that she could not soothe with magic, for it would not return for a few hours yet. As her stomach growled, she recognized the logic of Fenris's plan. She would get farther well-provisioned and rested.

She stretched out on the hay, the welcome warmth of Cambert pressing himself against her side lulling her into a doze that soon turned into full-fledged sleep.

* * *

Shuffling in the stable woke Cambert, his ears pricking forward as he raised his head in the gloaming. He was loath to leave his mistress's side, knowing that she was still weak, but the noise must be investigated. The Mabari stood, ignoring the stiffness in his joints as his whole body went on full alert. He might be old, but he knew his job, and his job was to protect his mistress.

The shuffling grew louder, closer. He crouched, his hackles going up as he smelled an unfamiliar man. His lips writhed back from his teeth, worn with age but still sharp enough to crush a man's arm, given the chance. Cambert was a wily old hound, and he knew that the element of surprise was his friend. He waited.

A shadow melted from the others, becoming larger as it loomed in the stall where his mistress slept. Powerful muscles bunched beneath the mabari's coat as Cambert crouched farther, waiting for his chance to strike. Something was wrong, the harsh smell of herbs overriding the man-scent, and his body trembled as the man began to lean over.

Cambert struck, snarling as he savaged the man's forearm. A sharp cry of pain coupled with a kick sent him skidding back, his grip tenuous. He stood, shaking himself before charging again, bulling into the man's shins as hard as he could. His howling woke his mistress, he could tell, for her breathing changed in pitch and she scrambled backward, cursing.

He tried to bring the man down, his teeth snapping as he bit at soft places. His teeth scraped bone at one point, and the thrill of victory sang through him as he backed away and leapt upward again.

Then, pain.

Sharp, piercing pain in his belly, like he'd eaten something that didn't agree with him. His leap was brought short as the man pushed him to the side, and he fell in the hay. He tried to get up, but the slithery wet feeling of his belly made him pause. He could feel his heart beating, just like it always had, but something was _wrong_, bad wrong, hurting wrong. He whined, his breathing labored.

The man was there again, and he could lift his lips and growl in warning, but the sound was unconvincing, even to his own ears. He felt his head being held with one hand.

"_Chien muet,_" the man muttered, and then Cambert felt the wet spread along his throat, a sharp slicing pain. He whined, worried for his mistress, but he could not help her now.

He was a good dog. A brave dog. Maybe he had saved his mistress. The thought was a comfort as he slipped into blackness, his great chest heaving its last.

A good dog…

* * *

Celeste started at the sound of Cambert snarling, his terrifying Mabari battle roar overloud in the darkness as he scuffled with an unknown attacker. She reached for her magic, but her connection to the Fade was tenuous at best, not even a wisp of spellpower coming to her fingertips. She scrambled backward, cursing, as the man fell into another stall.

Her dog's yelp had her skittering forward, searching for him. His breathing sounded, a low whine in the darkness, and she willed something, anything, some small bit of magic that never came. The glint of a dagger in the dimness of twilight, a wicked edge darkened with black made her leap, screeching, onto the man. She fought like a wildcat, trying to wrest the knife away, but he was far stronger than she, and he backhanded her into the wood of the stall.

She crumpled, wiping blood from her mouth and nose as she struggled to her feet. He hit her again, pummeling her stomach and ribs. When she sagged at last, wheezing a painful breath, a rag scented with the tang of deathroot and another unidentifiable herb was forced against her face. She struggled, but her sharp intake of breath meant that she breathed in the noxious concoction soaked into the rag. Her vision clouded white, and even as she struggled, she felt her muscles go limp against her will.

Darkness worse than that of the stables swallowed her up, and she knew no more.

* * *

Sebastian was not aware that something was wrong until lunchtime. He did not spend his mornings with Fenris, the elf sleeping off his nightly vigil as per usual, or so he assumed when he woke again at a more reasonable hour than dawn. The Meginards were indeed gone from Arrow's Rest, and he confirmed this with the guard, their rooms cleared of their belongings and their carriage seen on the road out of the city. Satisfied with the day's endeavors already, he sat down to breakfast quite pleased with himself.

The Starkhaven nobility were late risers this morning, the party of the night before dulling their wits and their appetites. Many skipped breakfast, favoring a ride home without something that would make their hangovers worse. Sebastian said farewell to a lot of them, smiling and nodding as they made their way back to their estates, blinking in the brightness of the sunshine. By noon, most, if not all, of them were either gone or rolling out of the gates.

Lunch was a far more nervous affair than he would have liked. He ate in his study, glancing up every time footsteps passed his door. He quelled his anxiety with the thought that she was just as nervous as he. While it was comforting, it was also silly. They were both adults, both with experience – why did the thought of this talk flip his stomach like he was a stripling again? He finished his meal in haste, clearing the plate away and setting it on the side table for a servant to collect later.

He waited as he heard another set of footsteps outside his open door, a small smile playing about his mouth. Wait, no, these footsteps were heavy, used to wearing bulky plate. Carver.

He looked up, just as the grey warden stuck his head in the door.

"Carver," he said, his voice neutral.

"She's not here," Carver said, almost to himself. "I would have sworn she'd be in here with you."

Something prickled in his stomach, his instincts wakening with a start. "Who's not here, Carver?"

"Ceelee. She said something about talking with you last night before she went to bed, but I haven't seen her all morning." His eyes narrowed. "In fact, I haven't seen Cambert this morning, either."

"I haven't seen them either. She was supposed to come and talk with me about now." Sebastian felt his stomach lurch. She was not with her brother? "Have you checked with Varric?"

"He was still asleep when I banged on his door. I know Fenris hates her, but d'you think…?"

"Let's ask." He stood up, his thoughts whirling as the two men made their way down to Fenris's room. A spare servant's room, it was Spartan, but served Fenris's purpose, or so he said. Sebastian pounded on the door, to no reply. "He can't still be asleep. Fenris!"

He tried the latch, as much as he hated invading his friend's privacy. The room was empty, the door swinging open at his touch.

"No one here." Carver said, succinct in his statement of the obvious. "Is he a late sleeper?"

"He usually reports to me when he wakes. This is odd, and I don't like it." Sebastian shook his head. "His weapon and armor are gone. Come on, I want to get to the gate before the guard changes."

They ran for the gate, fear boiling in both of them. Once again, Celeste was gone.

The question now was: why?

* * *

A/N: Oh my, everything's rushing up and all will be revealed in time for those of you wondering why Celeste is acting the way she does. She _will_ be sitting down and explaining this to Sebastian, don't you worry. A short author's note today, since I'm leaving in a moment to watch X-Men. As always, thanks for reading!

Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this chapter:**

_Tacet _means 'silence'.


	16. A Posse Ad Esse

**A Posse Ad Esse**

* * *

A pair of very nervous guards stood before the Prince of Starkhaven and his companion, the Champion of Kirkwall. Carver scowled at them both, but Sebastian's face was neutral as he regarded his men. They shifted on their heels more when he looked at each in turn. He knew them, veterans of the coup that took Starkhaven; Jensen and Winchell. Both were good, loyal men, and both had something to hide, from the looks of them.

"Now," he said. "Tell me what you saw."

"Well, highness, we saw the Meginards riding out, like you asked before," said Jensen, scrubbing a hand through his sweaty hair. He looked around and leaned a little closer. "We also saw your man Fenris dragging out that assassin."

"Assassin?" Sebastian's eyebrows rose into his hairline. "What assassin?"

"She was female, highness, and was dragged behind 'is horse like he had a vendetta against her. Couldn't see her face, but he said she was a Crow sent to kill you. Said we should keep quiet to avoid spooking the nobles." Jensen's eyes flicked to Winchell, who nodded.

"Aye, highness, he said he was taking her out in the woods to dispose of her," Winchell continued. Sebastian felt a chill pass over him. "He jerked the rope like she was a rabid dog, he did."

"Did he have a Mabari with him?" Carver asked.

"Aye, messere, he did. Said it was to run the prisoner down, should she escape. How did you know?"

Carver was already stalking toward the stables, calling for his horse to be saddled. Sebastian felt that chill spike cold in his gut. He turned again to the guards.

"If Fenris comes back, he is to be held, however you can. You know what he's capable of, but I want him held for questioning, if you can." Both men looked nervous, but nodded.

He summoned a stable boy, who snapped to attention. "Go get the Champion's sword and my bow and meet us back here while we saddle the horses. Quickly now, lad."

Carver turned as Sebastian approached, his face grim. "If that animal has hurt my sister…"

"I will deal with Fenris if he has, Carver. Let's just hope this isn't what we think it is."

"For your sake, I hope not." Carver fixed him with a glare. "She's gone again because of you."

"We don't know that," Sebastian said, his anger flaring and making his voice tense. "Let's concentrate on finding her and Fenris. It might not even be her."

"Cambert was with them. Would he follow anyone but me or my sister?"

"If Celeste asked."

"She wouldn't. She and Fenris have been avoiding each other for weeks, she said."

"It _does_ run in the family, then." Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Carver, who looked away. Sebastian blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Carver. That was out of line."

"He said I was a mistake, Sebastian." Carver's voice was tight. "I walked away, because I will never be a stand in for anyone ever again. He seemed okay with it."

Sebastian clapped Carver on the shoulder. "You'll notice that he's been avoiding you, too. I think it bothers him still."

Carver shook his head. "Regardless, if he's hurt my sister…"

"We'll deal with it if it comes. I want answers, and I intend to get them." Sebastian turned at the clatter of footsteps on the cobbles.

Varric and the stable boy returned, Varric carrying a long bundle wrapped in cloth. The boy panted under the weight of Hayder's Razor strapped to his back, Sebastian's longbow and quiver clutched in his arms. Sebastian collected his weapon, strapping the quiver's baldric on as Carver relieved the boy of his burden, hefting the sword in one huge hand. The stable lad's eyes grew wide, and he scrambled back with a hasty bow.

"If that's what I think it is, then you're already aware of the situation. Why am I not surprised?" Sebastian nodded at the bundle in Varric's hands as the horses were brought around, a third one prepared for the dwarf.

"Because it's me, Choir Boy. You don't think I'd let you have all the fun on your own?" He patted Bianca. "Besides, I didn't get to help rescue her the last time. I need material of the prince-in-shining-armor variety."

Sebastian shook his head, mounting Berach as Carver gave Varric a leg up. "Always after a story."

"Anything to keep my mind off this damnable horse. I'm going to be sore for a week."

"Quit your grousing, you baby." Carver pulled himself into the saddle. "Let's go find my sister."

They thundered out of Arrow's Rest hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst. Sebastian could only pray that he was wrong about his assumptions, for all their sakes.

* * *

Fenris was distracted, and so the clash of steel as he was grabbed from behind by a mailed gauntlet was a complete surprise. He was slammed into the mortar of the house behind him, driving the breath from his lungs, and he looked up into Carver's angry face. Never had he seen the Champion this distraught, and the sight of Sebastian over Carver's shoulder did not help either. His old friend and employer was angry, his brow tinged with worry for the mage.

The mage that would get them all killed, if she had the chance.

He dropped the bundle he was holding, the pack spilling wrapped packets of dried meat and fruit at his feet, along with several blankets. He had been on his way back to the tree line, his thoughts boiling with the promise that Hawke would finally be gone for good.

He had let his guard down. He should have heard them coming. He was distracted.

He met Carver's eyes, moss green to deep, angry blue. His lip lifted in a growl, but Carver proved to be the stronger now, fueled by rage. He shook Fenris, cracking his back against the wall once.

"_Where is she_?" Carver drew his poignard, the long dagger resting at the juncture under Fenris's breastplate where the armpit was unprotected.

"She is safe," he replied, his breathing forced into steadiness by pure will. "Because she is gone."

"Gone?" Sebastian said, his hands clenching. "Why?"

"She did not say. She merely asked for my help to escape." The lie was easy, easier than any others he had told. "So I rode her to the treeline and released her."

"And what did she give you in return, Broody?" Varric's sharp eyes were upon him now, the dwarf kneeling to gather up the bundle that had fallen from his hands.

"Peace of mind. She wanted to escape, and I knew that the mage would bring nothing but ruin onto Starkhaven, as all mages do."

Carver slammed him against the wall again. "She's my _sister_, you heartless bastard! She helped you, was your friend without ever asking for anything in return!"

"Where was she when Danarius came for me?" Fenris spat, the old anger welling up in him like brackish water in a marsh, always under the surface, even solid ground.

"Where were _you_ when our mother died?" Carver shook him again, as if to emphasize the point. "No one, not even me, was there for her, and you wonder why she ran? She had nothing left!"

Fenris shook his head. "It was not my place."

"_Bullshit._ It was _all_ of our places. We could have shown more care for my sister, who always did her best to keep us together, despite our problems. You're a hypocrite, Fenris." Carver released him, the pain on his features naked for all to see. Fenris reached up, only to be shrugged off as Carver turned away.

"Tell me, Broody," said Varric, rifling through the bundles. "Why are you buying rations for several weeks, if Hawke is already gone?"

"Maybe he was trying to escape for himself," Carver said, not looking at Fenris.

Fenris grit his teeth, his markings flaring a bit. "Are you calling me a liar, dwarf?"

"And a poor one at that," said Varric, smug because he knew he was right, no doubt. "He has no reason to flee if she's gone of her own free will. He wanted to make sure she _stayed _gone. Isn't that right?"

Fenris cut his eyes away, a bad habit from his time as a slave. Varric gave a knowing smirk.

"I will take you to her," he said, a sigh rumbling up. "I cannot guarantee she will come back."

"Leave that to us, Broody." Varric shoved the dried fruit and meat into the pack again, tightening the straps. "We're a pretty convincing bunch."

"Not when she's throwing fireballs," Carver said.

Varric rolled his eyes. "Pessimist."

Sebastian regarded Fenris for a moment. When he spoke at last, his voice cut like the sharpest blade. "You realize that I can't trust you anymore, Fenris. I am sad to do this, but you have left me no choice. You are welcome at Arrow's Rest as my friend, but no longer as my bodyguard. I will have to hire someone else."

Fenris stared at a spot just above Sebastian's shoulder. Once again, a mage had ripped him from his home. It was a hard, icy truth, reflected in Sebastian's steady gaze.

His lips thinned as he nodded. "Understood."

* * *

Sebastian felt that same prickle of unease slip down his spine as they filed into the dirt yard of the lodge. It was full dark, Berach knowing the path by rote now and leading the procession. The night sky was sprinkled with stars, even as Fenris lit a torch from his pack for them to see. All was quiet in the yard, the horses' soft nickering the only sound save for the night birds and crickets.

Carver gave a soft whistle in the direction of the barn. There was no answer, causing him to put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Varric slid down from his horse, Bianca sliding from her holster in a single, smooth motion as she ratcheted open in readiness. Sebastian did the same, drawing one of his long knives as he crept toward the darkened stable. It was too close for him to use his bow, so he would rely on what he'd learned from Fenris if need be.

As he reached the entrance, the coppery tang of blood assaulted his nose, fear clutching at his senses. He waved his hand in impatience, and Fenris handed him the torch. He stepped inside, only to be greeted by an abattoir. Dried blood spattered the hay in all directions, the savagery of the splattering leaving no doubt that whoever was here was attacked.

"Andraste have mercy," he said, unaware that he spoke aloud. Carver pushed past him into the stable.

"Ceelee?" He checked the first few stalls, his eyes roving over the blood. "Maker's mercy, what happened here?"

"Someone has found Choir Boy's hideaway," said Varric, moving into the stable as well. "Shit, it looks like someone was gutted in here."

Sebastian passed the first few stalls, heading for the back of the building. It was a modest building, only six stalls, and his heart sank as he came to the last one. The body of a Mabari lay in a pool of bloody hay, its throat cut. He had only to glance at the grizzled muzzle to know it was Cambert.

He knelt, his hand on the dog's head as he bowed his own.

"Sebastian, what have you – no. No. _No_." Carver made a strangled noise as he knelt in the hay next to the fallen Mabari. "Oh, you brave chap. Look at the blood on his teeth. Whoever did this to him paid for it."

Sebastian nodded, slipping Cambert's worn leather collar from around the furry neck. "We'll have to burn him later, Carver."

Carver nodded, swallowing. "He's still warm. Whoever did this can't be far."

"We can't track them in full dark," said Varric. "We're blind out there."

"Maybe not," said Sebastian. He turned to Fenris. "Is there any of this blood you can use?"

"What?" Varric asked.

"Templars use blood to track mages. Hypocrites. It's blood magic, pure and simple," said Carver.

"Is that why you had me pay off Samson in lyrium dust all those years ago, Choir Boy?" Varric asked. "So that he could train Fenris completely?"

Sebastian gave a small smile. "Templars do not give up their secrets willingly."

Fenris looked around. "I cannot tell if any of this blood is hers."

"Is there any kind of cloth, anything, that would be useful?"

Varric glanced around, sharp eyes spotting a rag on the ground that was spotted with blood. "What about this, Broody?"

Fenris took the bloody swatch, closing his eyes. His markings flared, bright blue that was nearly white. His head twisted this way and that, questing for something, and his eyes opened a moment later as the bright flare of light died.

"I know where she is."

* * *

Pain came back with a rushing pulse of white hot agony as she opened her eyes. Torches burned along the walls of the room she was in, and she was bound with lengths of rope to a straight-backed chair. Celeste wrenched an arm against the bonds, to no avail. She gave a soft groan as her head pounded in a rhythmic throb.

"Ah, our guest is awake." Her eyes snapped open again. She knew that voice.

Rennault Meginard bent over her, cold delight shining in his grey eyes. She flinched away, only to be tutted at as he gripped her chin, turning her to face him.

"I am so glad you could join us, my dear." He made an elaborate gesture at the hovel, the bare walls worn with age. "We've spared no expense to share your company."

"I almost had my arm ripped off so that you can gloat, father," came a gruff voice. Victor Meginard stepped into view, his arm swathed in bandages. "Kill the bitch so that we can move on."

"Patience, my boy. You have no taste for these things." Meginard stroked her cheek. "She _is_ a pretty little thing. I can see why the Starkhaven dog is so enamored of you."

She spat in his face. He laughed, slapping her so hard her ears rang with the blow. She sat, stunned, as he fished a handkerchief from his doublet to wipe his face. As she gathered her wits, she became aware that he was talking once more.

" – a small price to pay to be admitted back into court, but _non_, he would not hear of it. So now, I will have to take you with me, to use as a bargaining chip to ensure that the Prince of Starkhaven will pay the Empress her proper dues." He gave a small smile, self-mockery in his voice. "It is like one of those novellas you see in the marketplace, yes? Perhaps I should grow a moustache so that I may twirl it."

A small smile of her own spread across her face as she reached for her magic and found it waiting, an old friend that leapt to her call. "Oh, Lord Meginard, aren't you aware of how those stories end?"

"The hero bursts in to rescue the _mademoiselle,_ yes, I am aware. However, your prince will not be forthcoming, my dear."

"Oh, but sometimes the damsel saves herself." His eyes grew wide as flames burst around her body, incinerating the chair and the ropes that held her. He backed away, stumbling into his son.

"_Sorcellerie!_" he cried, falling to the floor in the face of her anger.

"Indeed." She stalked forward. "I have to thank you, by the way."

"W-why?"

"For showing me the bandages. Now I know which one of you Orlesian bastards I should kill first."

She brought her fists up, clenching them so hard the knuckles went white. Victor screamed as a cage of force collapsed around him with deadly precision, his skin bulging in irregular patterns as she inflicted her will upon him. She crushed him with slow pleasure, anger giving way to tears burning down her face as he died. She felt his heart stop, at last, and released him to crumple into a boneless mass in the floor.

"Now, Lord Meginard," she said, turning to him. "We were discussing the terms of your surrender."

"Yes, I surrender!" he babbled. "Anything!"

"I'm sorry, I can't seem to find it in me to accept those terms. Maybe if you'd caught me in a better mood." She brought her fists up.

He didn't stop screaming for a long while.

* * *

A/N: Oh snap. As always, thanks for reading!

Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this chapter:**

_A Posse As Esse _means 'from possibility to actuality'.


	17. Dies Irae

**Dies Irae**

* * *

The hovel on the edge of the forest was a good distance away, a dilapidated manor house of some long-dead noble set right on the border of the principality. Squatters lived there until Sebastian cleared them out, and regular guard patrols kept it free of people. If Celeste and her attacker were in there, they would not have long to stay before the guard found them. He shuddered at the thought of what might have already happened as Fenris closed his eyes, his markings flaring in the darkness as he consulted his senses. He nodded after a moment, the eerie blue light of the lyrium fading into blackness.

They rode toward the building, the horses' ears flicking forward at the sound of a bloodcurdling wail that rose up. Fenris's mare shied, whinnying at the pain-filled scream. The other horses shifted, nervous, and they slowed to a canter as they neared. The scream was nearly inhuman, thin and reedy as they approached the yard of the house. It continued on for so long that it seemed impossible, cutting off and fading away on the night air.

"Well, _that_ wasn't ominous," said Varric, sliding down from his horse with a grunt. "Best we keep alert."

Sebastian agreed, and he swung down from Berach's back, pulling his bow out and stringing it. They made their way up to the front door, Carver leading. Sebastian took note of the carriage in the yard, and his stomach gave a lurch – the Meginard family crest, a ram rearing on a field of green, shone with dull certainty in the light of the torch Fenris held.

If he had gotten hold of Celeste, there was no telling what he planned to do. Sebastian swallowed his trepidation as Carver pushed the door open, his fingers on the fletching of an arrow in readiness.

The ground floor was dark and empty, refuse strewn about by man and beast alike. Windows that had once held panes of glass now gaped like toothless mouths, their panes long shattered. Glass crunched under their boots as they made their way farther into the manor, the wallpaper peeling and torn in places. Mold scented the air, thick with rot, and the wooden boards underfoot creaked in dangerous warning.

Carver preceded them, graceful despite his heavy armor. He held Hayder's Razor in a guard in front of him, his head turning from side to side as he made his way down the foyer hallway of the house. Fenris followed, the two ranged rogues taking point in the back. All of them were on high alert, senses stretched to the breaking point against perceived threat.

There was only one way upstairs, a set of wooden steps that had long rotted away. The banister was the only thing that remained, and that crumbled when Varric laid a hand on it.

"Well, it's safe to say the top floor is empty too," said Varric. "Can you tell exactly where she is, Broody?"

"Perhaps," said Fenris. He closed his eyes, the swatch of bloody cloth in his gauntlet as the blue of his lyrium lit the darkened foyer. It flared, white-hot, and Fenris turned.

"She is down."

"Cellars?" asked Carver.

"The only thing it could be, Junior, unless…"

"_No_," snapped Sebastian, making a negative motion with his hand. "Do not even speak the words."

"You got it, Choir Boy. Let's stop bickering and find a way into the cellars." Varric trotted off in one direction, Fenris following behind.

Sebastian and Carver went the other way, sweeping through side rooms, looking for the kitchen. They found it before the other two, Carver guarding the entrance while Sebastian went to fetch them. The steps were old, but stone; they held weight as they descended into the darkness. Fenris lit another torch from the smoldering ruin of the last one, the light playing crazy angles off of every surface. They descended, their eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Tearful sobbing could be heard as they ventured lower, leveling out at last into a large cellar. Fenris turned his head, his torch following as he looked around. Sebastian could make out the shapes of refuse littering this floor as well, and he lit another torch from Fenris's. Holding it high, he walked forward, the sobbing growing louder. The flickering torchlight cast itself on a huddled figure in the far corner of the room.

There, her face streaked with tears and dirt, was Colette Meginard. She looked up at his approach, a darkening ring of purple around her eye swelling it shut. Sebastian's lips tightened. Meginard had been displeased with his daughter's failure, it seemed. He knelt next to the girl, reaching for her. She flinched back.

"_M'éloignez-vous! Tyran! Faux roi! Ne me touchez pas!_" She spat at his feet and huddled into herself.

"Colette, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "We need you to tell us where your father is."

At the mention of her father, she burst into fresh tears. He reached for her, but she slapped at his hand, flailing in her hysteria. Carver knelt beside her and restrained her, his face impassive against the blow she struck him, the hit glancing off his cheek.

"Tell me where my sister is, wench, or I'll flog you myself." She stilled at the sound of Carver's voice, rough and harsh even to Sebastian's ears.

"Carver," he said.

"No, I'm tired of plots and politics keeping me from saying the things that need to be said. If her father took Ceelee, then I want to know where the bastard is." Carver tightened his hold on Colette's wrists, causing the girl to cry out. She spat again, this time hitting Carver's breastplate.

"_Votre putain dort avec des chiens! __Saleté!_"

"I don't speak Orlesian, what's she saying?"

Sebastian frowned, biting back his anger. "Nothing I would like to translate, Carver. Trust me. Bind her hands. We'll come back for her, and we don't want her running to warn her father."

"Gag her, too, I expect," said Carver, reaching for a handkerchief.

Sebastian rose to his feet, dusting off his knees. Besides Colette, the cellar was eerie and quiet. Dust covered much of the floor in a thick layer, most of it undisturbed, save for a cleared trail down the leftmost hallway. Brands guttered in the wall sconces, lighting the way to a battered wooden door. Light flickered underneath it, a bright line under the edge of the door. He and Varric moved toward it, their steps whispers along the stone floor.

The steady drip of water could be heard, and the sound of his own harsh breathing as he tested the latch. It moved in his grasp, and he pushed the door open, his breath catching in his throat.

"Celeste," he said, his voice a whisper. "What have you done?"

Celeste was covered in blood, head to toe, and she still held her hands above her head in a pose that he remembered well. She used the spell to hold people she wanted to talk to after a battle, her extraordinary control allowing her to immobilize them without killing them. Anders had taught her the basics, and she had applied her force magic discipline into making it a non-violent spell when she needed it.

It was not non-violent now.

She released the body that dangled in the air above her, the crushed pulp bearing resemblance to Rennault Meginard only in the fact that it wore his clothing. It fell to the floor in a gory heap, squelching against the floor. His son Victor lay on the ground as well, an unbroken arm swathed in bandages. He remembered Cambert's broken teeth as he gazed at the scion of the Meginard house, now bloody and broken on the dirty cellar floor.

Carver pushed into the room past Varric and stopped. His sister stood with her back to them, her arms dropping to her sides as she took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Ceelee?" Carver took a half-step forward.

"Wonderful. Now I have to explain this." She turned, catching sight of Sebastian. "And to you. Excellent. Do me a favor, Carver, and cut me down now."

"Celeste," Sebastian said again, stepping forward. Carver held an arm out, blocking him from moving.

"Leave off, Vael. She doesn't want to see you, obviously."

"Carver, now is not the time to be overprotective. We need to know what happened, if she's hurt." Sebastian stepped forward again, Carver's glaring not deterring him this time. "What did they want her for?"

"I can tell you that," she said, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. "I was kidnapped because I'm important to the Prince of sodding Starkhaven, although I have no idea _why_, when he beds chits that are half my age."

"Ceelee, it's all right, I'm here now," said Carver, moving to her side at last. He enfolded her in a hug, and she relaxed against her brother, keeping a wary eye on Sebastian. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, all things considered." She trembled in her brother's arms, and Sebastian ached to take her from Carver, but the look she shot him, full of poison, made him hesitate. "The bloody Orlesians just thought that I would be the perfect pawn to keep Sebastian malleable. They intended to drag me back to Val Royeaux in chains in order to secure Sebastian's grain, or somesuch plot. _Maker_, I'm tired of Orlesians and their politics."

Varric snorted. "Business as usual, then, Hawke?"

"Hardly." She fixed Sebastian with a look. "Was the girl not enough, Sebastian? Did you ask for more than she was willing to give in order to trade with them?"

"What?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "What's all this about a girl – wait, do you mean _Colette_? The one I tossed out on her arse for climbing into my bed completely naked?"

Fenris stepped into the room, his lips twisting as he took in the mess. "You did not tell me you had a visitor in the night."

"You weren't awake, or you were already _gone_," Sebastian snapped. Fenris shot him an angry glance, but kept quiet. "Celeste, whatever you think you saw, I assure you that–"

"No, I'm not listening to this," she said. She pushed away from Carver, stalking toward him. Covered in blood and shaking, she was likely going into shock, but she was a terrifying sight nonetheless. Sebastian held firm, knowing he had done no wrong. She stopped short, the sight of him with no guilt in his form giving her pause. "You fucked that girl, tossed her out on her arse when she was done, and then denied her father trading rights. So he thought he might get a little revenge, because you appeared to care about me."

She hugged her elbows. "I'm nothing but a pawn for the prince to use as he pleases. I can't say I'm surprised, but I thought you were different."

"Will you _listen_ to me?" he said, frustrated. He reached for her, but she flinched back from his hand, bumping against Carver. Her brother rubbed her arm in a soothing motion as Sebastian began to pace. "I denied him trading rights far earlier than you think I did. I have earmarked grain for Ferelden, as I said I would when I made an alliance with the King. He wanted it for his own, to worm back into Celene's court. When that didn't work, he sent Colette."

He continued, searching her face. Her mouth hardened, thinning at the corners, the lips going white. "If you asked her, she would probably deny it. All you have to go on is my word, but I haven't lied to you yet, have I?"

Varric stepped in at last. "I know enough Orlesian to know that she was calling him _and_ you all sort of nasty names, Hawke. He probably did the honorable thing and tossed her out while claiming you were the only woman for him, knowing Choir Boy here. Terribly romantic of him, but it does lead to these situations."

Carver put his hand on his sister's shoulder. "Come on, let's get you out of here. First thing in the morning, I'm taking you home."

"I'm not going _home_, Carver. I have no home. Kirkwall is not my _home_." Celeste allowed herself to be led towards the door, only to be blocked by Fenris.

Fenris folded his arms, his eyes narrowed at the siblings. "Am I the only one bothered by the fact that she killed two men by herself? So violently we can't even be sure if one of them is the noble we think he is?"

"This _is_ Hawke we're talking about, Broody. She used to kill a lot more men with a single spell, remember?" Varric closed Bianca's tension arms, the ratcheting _clank_ loud in the quiet underground.

"But those were always clean kills, with mercy apparent in the stroke," said Fenris, unmoving. Sebastian stepped in front of Celeste and Carver, meeting him stare for stare.

"Fenris, move."

"You think to order me about, as though I am still in your employ?" he asked, his eyes glinting steely in the torchlight. "You released me from your service, and I owe you no loyalty. You would rather bed a mage instead of listening to common sense."

Fenris moved his glare from Sebastian to Celeste. "She is no better than a rabid dog now. I have seen deaths like this in Tevinter. Possessed by a demon, then set loose on the slave quarter to rip and tear. Better to kill her now."

Sebastian frowned at Fenris. "She would have attacked us on sight had she been possessed."

"Maybe not immediately," he shot back. "Maybe she's waiting until you ride through the marketplace, so that your people will witness her tearing your head off, because you were foolish enough to insist she ride with you."

"Are you really bringing up this argument now? Fenris, there are ways to tell if a person is possessed. I will take the chance." Sebastian stepped forward. "Move aside."

"I will not. I will see her dead or Tranquil before she leaves this room."

A sharp, bitter laugh interrupted the argument. "Possessed. Great. Obviously he doesn't remember who I am."

Celeste stalked past Sebastian, getting nose to nose with Fenris, who did not flinch. Her tone was slow, deliberate, and full of danger.

"You remember what we talked about when we were first getting to know each other, all those years ago in Kirkwall?" She folded her arms, waiting for a response.

He gave a curt nod.

"We talked about how I would not debase myself by dealing with a demon. About how I knew that I would never receive what was promised. If you believe that Malcolm Hawke's daughter would allow herself to be defiled by a demon, then _strike me down and quit posturing._"

Fenris reared back, glowing as he struck. He was quick, but not quick enough to avoid the mailed fist that connected with his jaw. He was knocked against the wall, chips of old plaster raining down on him as he looked up in a daze. Carver stood over him, shaking his fist out.

"As if Malcolm Hawke's son would stand by and let you kill his sister." He turned away. "You got what you wanted, Fenris. You're free, and you've cut all ties. You thought you were alone before? Try having no allies at all. You're no longer welcome in Kirkwall."

"The invitation to Starkhaven is rescinded as well," said Sebastian. While he felt useless in the face of the Hawke siblings' prowess, he could at least do this much. "If you show up, the militia will have orders to run you out. You have three days to collect your belongings."

"My argument stands," said Fenris as he levered himself to his feet. "If you would banish me for speaking the truth, then so be it."

"I'm banishing you to protect my _sister_, you ass." Carver scowled at Fenris. "As much as I loved you once, family comes first. You're not welcome while you threaten such things at the only family I have left besides that drunken old sot Gamlen."

"You made this choice, Fenris," said Sebastian.

"Even though I have a penchant for exaggeration, even I'm going to have to admit you went too far on this one, Broody." Varric shuffled his feet, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his coat. "You know what happens when people threaten any of the Hawkes."

Fenris strode from the room, swearing in Arcanum.

"Knowing Broody, it'll take him three years for a half-hearted apology."

"Not this time, Varric," said Carver. "He's already hurt too many."

They made their way out the door, finding Colette Meginard where they had left her. She glared daggers at Celeste, who ignored her. This seemed to anger her more and as Carver tried to help her up she went limp to spite him. He sighed and turned to his sister.

"Can you walk on your own? Otherwise I have to drag her out by her hair."

"I can walk, although I would rather see her dragged." She swayed on her feet, belying her words, but Sebastian was there, his hands steadying her. She refused to look at him; instead she went quiet, the anger simmering under the surface. Her whole body was stiff as he helped her up the stairs.

He heard muffled cries of indignation, and turned to see Carver hefting Colette over his shoulder. When he raised an eyebrow, Carver only shrugged.

"She wants to play dead weight, she gets treated like a bag of grain."

The night was still upon them when they reached the outside of the manor. Fenris stood in a circle of torchlight, cinching Meginard's horses to the carriage. He did not speak to any of them once his task was through, instead climbing into his saddle and starting off without them. Sebastian shook his head, sorrow at his friend's decision coloring his features.

Carver tossed Colette into the carriage, dropping her with a grunt. She bounced on the seat, glaring at him, but he had already turned to Celeste.

"Up you go, Sister," he said, holding out his hand.

"I'll not sit in close quarters with that viper. Not for all the grain in Starkhaven. There's an extra horse. I'll ride." She staggered away from Sebastian, heading toward the horses. He caught her as she reached Berach, the roan lipping at her hands.

"You're in no condition to ride on your own." He put his hands around her waist as he prepared to lift her onto Berach's saddle.

"I'll not ride with you, either," she said, pushing his hands away. "I ride alone, double with my brother, or I walk."

"I have to drive the carriage, Ceelee. Are you sure you can sit a horse?" Carver took an uncertain step towards her, but she smiled at him.

"I can. Don't worry about me, Carver. Stronger stuff than what Fenris can dish out is required to take me down."

"That wasn't what I meant," Carver said, worry evident in his eyes. "You know it, too."

"I do, but you don't get to bully me. I'm the eldest." She clambered atop Carver's black gelding, her movements sluggish. Once, she almost fell, slipping as her foot only grazed the stirrup, but she righted herself and glared at both Sebastian and Carver, who had stepped forward to help. "There. Let's get going. I'm going to rent a room at the inn, and I'm going to sleep for a day. _Alone_."

She clicked to the horse, pressing with her knees, and he trotted off in the direction of Starkhaven. Sebastian sighed, hefting himself up onto his horse after giving Varric a leg up. Carver climbed into the driver's seat of the carriage, taking the reins.

"Have you decided what to do with her?" he asked, his thumb jerking behind him at the carriage itself.

"The Chantry can always use another cloistered sister," Sebastian said. "She'll settle into a quiet life of obscurity, just as she didn't want. Kirkwall's chantry is hard to escape from – I've tried."

He urged Berach into a canter to catch up with Celeste. Her back was stiff, her gaze straight ahead as she rode. She refused to look at him, even as he face was clear in the moonlight.

"Celeste," he said, hoping to breach the wall of anger.

"Please be quiet, Sebastian. I was having a lovely time alone with my thoughts."

He snapped his jaw shut, nostrils flaring in irritation. Maker help him, but the woman was infuriating. As angry as he was, he tried to remind himself that she'd been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. He rode beside her in silence for a time, his thoughts squirreling in his head as the miles passed.

"I'm sorry," he said at last.

"According to you, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I have quite a bit to be sorry for. I'm sorry I could not have found you sooner. I'm sorry that I left you to your own devices for a week before I tried to tell you how I really feel. I'm sorry for neglecting you those years before, in Kirkwall." He took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry for not being there when your mother was murdered. I have plenty to atone for, most of all that it took your disappearance to make me realize how wrong I was to let you go."

She swayed in the saddle, and he caught the glint of tears in the moonlight. He reached across the distance, his hand warm on her chilled fingers. She didn't pull away this time.

"I'm sorry for running, then," she said. "For every time I ran. You didn't deserve that."

"Maybe the first time," he said, a small smile playing about his lips. "I should have gone home with you that night, to make sure you knew I was there for you."

"You've been kind to me," she said. She slumped in the saddle, her head drooping as she spoke. "Far kinder than I have been to you. I'm sorry."

"Hush," he said. She slumped further in the saddle, almost sliding off. He took the reins of the gelding, catching her and pulling her into the saddle in front of him. "We'll talk in the morning."

"I'm tired of waiting to talk," she murmured.

He gave a small chuckle. "First thing in the morning, I promise. I'll be there when you wake."

* * *

She woke to the sound of splashing water, the scent of honeysuckle and orange blossom heavy in the air. Still muzzy from her fitful doze, she stirred. Sebastian was there, his hands gentle as he helped her from her gore-spattered clothes. He lifted her, bringing her close to his chest, and turned to a steaming tub of water, the oils already floating in it and wafting to her nose.

He settled her in first, turning to shuck his clothing as well. He stepped in, his legs sliding past hers as he sat. A small noise of approval rumbled up from his chest as he settled himself in the hot water, leaning back against the side of the copper tub. She felt a hand on her shoulder, his square-tipped fingers urging her to sit back. She shifted backward at his insistence and felt herself pillowed against his broad chest as he reached for the basket of soap.

He lathered his hands, running them over her shoulders and arms, broad thumbs pressing against the back of her neck in mimicry of the neck rub she'd given him. She gave a small sigh, her aching muscles relaxing against him as he worked, washing the soap from her with his cupped hands. Soap was lathered into her scalp, and she arched against his fingers like a cat as he washed her hair for her. His chuckle was low, and she could hear the smirk in his voice; for once, she was too tired to be affronted.

"You keep that up, and I might be convinced you actually enjoy my company." Fingers traced the outer shell of one ear, sending a shiver rippling through her.

"You think I didn't enjoy it?" she asked. She twisted in the water to look at him. His gaze was hooded, appraising. "You have no idea how many nights I lay awake in Kirkwall, thinking about it."

"And yet you ran. Why?"

"I'm starting to wonder that myself." She turned around, hunching in on herself in the steaming water. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Oh, sweetling," he said, his hands pulling her back against him. "I'm so sick of 'I'm sorry'. I know you are. So am I."

She paused at that. He ran his thumbs up the side of her neck, rubbing the small hairs that curled at the base of her neck. "You meant it, then? You want me to stay?"

"Of course I did. You need to see what you're missing, with all the running you've been doing." His lips brushed her ear, the back of her neck, her shoulder. His hands trailed through the water circling her stomach and drawing her tight against him. "I said I wanted you here, and for more than just one night. I don't say those things lightly."

"I suppose you don't, at that. It took you four years, after all." The lips on her shoulder stilled for a moment before he rumbled another chuckle. The water was making her drowsy, and she made no effort to stifle her yawn as she leaned back against him. He rinsed her hair, covering her eyes with his palm as he ladled the hot water through the soap, sluicing it away.

"You've forgiven me, then?" He carded his fingers through her hair, smoothing the wet strands away from her face.

"Forgiven what?" she asked with a smile as she tipped her head back against him. "I've already forgotten why I was angry."

He laughed, pressing his lips against her temple. She lay against him, languid and boneless for a long while. She was dozing again when he extricated himself with a rippling splash from the cooling water, wrapping a sheet about his waist as he searched for a spare one to dry her with. She flicked her fingers through the water, comfortable.

He found one at last and helped her to stand, wrapping it around her. While he worked at adjusting the towel, she leaned forward, putting her hands against his chest. He stilled, looking down at her face, and she climbed out of the tub, into his arms. She pressed her lips against his in a chaste kiss, her arms circling his waist as she held him to her.

She held him for a moment, and he held her. For once, in four, long years, all was right with the world.

* * *

A/N: Look who finally got a chance to have words with each other! And without any miscommunication! Sometimes the stars align just right.

That said, I have a nice surprise for those of you who follow me on livejournal. Check over there once you're done reading for a special treat! (As always, my Livejournal can be found in my Author's bio here.)

Thanks for sticking with me, Constant Readers!

Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this Chapter:**

_Dies Irae_ means 'Day of Judgment'.


	18. Ad Rem

**Ad Rem**

* * *

Carver brought Colette to her room, taking the key from the lock as he went. She would remain there until Sebastian could arrange for her to be transported to the Kirkwall Chantry. Two guards were stationed outside her door, their poses relaxed but alert as he left. The only other way out was the window and a three story drop from Arrow's Rest offered only escape through death.

He tucked the key into his belt pouch, his footsteps heavy as he returned to his room. He shucked his armor, setting it on the stand to be cleaned when he woke. He was of a mind to go check on Ceelee, but he had seen Sebastian carry her into the castle, and knew that they were speaking to each other at last. There was much to be done in the morning – seeing Cambert off not the least of it. He had stopped at the lodge on their way back, loading the poor dog into the back of the carriage after wrapping him in a sheet. When Ceelee was awake, they would see to his burning.

The thought of someone else made him straighten his armor on the stand and leave it. He padded down the hall in tunic and breeches, his boots scuffing on the floor with far less noise than he made in armor. He thought that this was the reason Fenris jumped when he knocked on the door jamb, startling like a burglar being caught. He whipped around, markings flaring, until he realized that Carver wasn't a threat.

"Are you here to see me out?" he asked. "Sebastian said I would have a few days."

"You're really that angry that you lash out at everyone, aren't you?" Carver leaned on the doorway, his thumbs in his belt. "My sister isn't a threat, you know."

"All mages are a threat." Fenris turned back to what he was doing. Carver tilted his head, and saw a small burlap sack, full of small baubles that the elf had collected over the years. "I do not need your sympathy or to 'just understand'. It's a fact I had drummed into me in the Imperium, and it has kept me alive, and free."

"Except you're not free." Carver shook his head as Fenris turned, his lip lifting in a sneer. "Don't try and get around it. We killed Danarius years ago, Fenris. You're not in the Imperium any longer. Yet you still act like a dog that's been kicked, snapping at anyone who would show you kindness."

"I am no one's dog!" The markings flared again with his agitation.

"Then prove it. Be the better man, and try to understand the world around you. You might be free in body, but in mind, you still wear Danarius's chains." Carver unhooked his thumbs from his belt, folding his arms across his chest. "We are _not_ the Imperium, Fenris. We might not have the right idea about mages – no one knows how to answer that question without starting a war – but we do the best we can to keep them in check and protect them from themselves. My sister is not a threat."

"You've changed much," Fenris said, his hands unfisting from his sides. "You used to hate mages, as I did. I thought you a kindred spirit."

"I never hated mages, Fenris. My sisters are – were – mages. My father was a mage. How can you hate something that's a part of the people you love?" Carver sighed. "My father used to tell me that it's not magic that's the curse, it's cruelty."

There was a long pause, and Fenris would not meet Carver's eyes as he stood, a study in stillness.

"I…will think on your words," said Fenris. He was stiff, but not near as stiff as he had been. Carver stood there for a moment more, and debated the next thought before speaking.

"Cruelty takes many forms, and I hate to see someone I love get eaten up by it. All I can ask is that you face it for what it is." He left, his feelings on the subject clear.

He made his way back to his room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He would find little sleep this night, but he would not be the only one, he imagined. He fell into bed, his disquiet thoughts chasing themselves around his consciousness until he at last faded into slumber.

* * *

Sebastian felt her arms slip around his back, and he gave a silent cheer as she allowed him to hold her without pulling away. He pressed his lips into the damp hair, smiling as she clung to him. He pulled back, still smiling as he dried her hair for her and helped her into bed. He paused, looking down at her.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked. "I can come back in the morning."

"What kind of a question is that?" She scooted over, twitching back the coverlet. "It's your bed, and your room. We can talk just as well now as we can in the morning."

"Except you're far more distracting right now," he said, smiling at her as he slipped the sheet from his torso before settling himself on the bed. She drew the blanket up over his waist before she pillowed herself on his shoulder, and he ran fingertips over her bare arm. "I can't have you in bed like this and just talk."

"Then we can sleep," she suggested, a glint of wry humor in her eyes.

"Aye, we could." He lay back, settling himself against the pillows and drawing her closer. "You're overtired as it is."

"We do need to talk," she said, stifling a yawn against his chest. "Four years of unresolved hurt between us won't die easily."

"We've waited four years," he said, his own eyes closing as she settled in. "One more day won't break us."

"Sebastian?" It was a small voice, muzzed with drowsiness.

"Hm?" He asked, drifting with her warmth against his chest.

"I promise I'll be here when you wake."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slow to steady himself. "Thank you."

* * *

True to her word, she was there when he woke. She had rummaged through his wardrobe for an extra shirt, sliding it over her head for a sense of modesty, and climbed back into bed. She sat with her back against the headboard, deep in thought as she curled her legs under her.

When he turned toward her, seeking her, his questing hand found her. A blue eye cracked open, his fingers brushing her ankle, and he smiled.

"This is new." His voice was filled with warmth. "I truly did not expect you here."

He sat up, stretching, and she watched the play of his muscles as he did, her fingers entwined in her lap. There was so much she wanted to say, and it died on her lips as he sat back against the headboard, his own hands laced across his stomach.

"Sebastian," she said, hating how weak her voice sounded. "I don't know why you've been so kind to me, but I wanted to thank you."

"I'm being kind to you because I love you." He turned his head toward her, propped up on the pillows. "Despite you being gone for so long, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"An obsession, like my brother said?" She frowned at her fingers.

"Call it faith." He looked at the ceiling then. "I _knew_, somehow, that you were still alive. While I don't often use the word faith anymore, I think that the Maker brought you to Starkhaven for a reason."

"I stumbled into the thicket, across your path." She wet her lips. "Perhaps it was fate, or the Maker's hand. But, after all that's happened, why keep trying? Surely there's someone less stubborn than I am, and with less baggage."

"They wouldn't be you." He gave an eloquent half-shrug. "I never wanted anyone else. Despite what's happened, despite who you claim you've become, I can still see the woman who caused me to falter when I sang the Chant, the first one who had even made me consider rescinding my vows."

"That should have been your first warning." She gave a half-hearted smile. "I wouldn't have been strong enough to do the things that Carver has. I don't _feel_ like the big sister. It's funny, I know how Carver felt, back then."

"You're wrong," he said. "The Celeste I knew was strong, full of fire. It got doused, little by little, as things started to chip away at her. Fenris and Anders bickering, Anders and I bickering. Merrill's use of blood magic, her refusal to listen. Carver's constant irritability. Her mother shoving everything into her lap, simply because she could. And then, at last, Leandra's death, murdered before we could save her. That shattered everything."

"It…it did. Mama didn't deserve that. I could have paid attention more, or –"

He took her hand then, thumb brushing over the knuckles. "No one was prepared for that. Least of all, you. Your family was everything, and when you needed someone to support you, I was nowhere to be found – I was too busy worrying about vows that had been broken long ago. So you left."

She nodded, numb.

"I'm here for you now. Whenever you feel like running, run to me. I'll be here. I will never chase you away." He placed warm palms on her cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears that she hadn't been aware were falling. His lips ghosted across hers, gentle and undemanding. It was too much, and yet not enough. She laced her fingers in his hair, scooting closer as she sought his warmth.

While her kiss was desperate, he allowed her to set the pace, letting her explore and take, even as he made a low hum of approval in his throat. Her palm slid to his throat, to feel the pulse there, steady and wonderful and _alive_, and she gave a choked noise between a cry of exultation and a sob. His hands traced soothing patterns on her back as she broke the kiss, burying her face in his neck.

"I won't run again. Not if this is where my home will be." She gave a shuddering breath against him.

"This is where you home _is_, Celeste. It has ever been so." He pulled her into his lap, still rubbing her back in slow circles. Her kiss that time was on the pulse that beat at his throat, and she was gratified to feel it jump, even as she ran her nails through the sprinkling of hair on his chest. She straddled his legs, her eyes intent as she looked down into his face.

"Then here I shall remain." She brought her lips to his again, and his eyes burned, would burn her from the inside out if he kept looking at her like that, but she never wanted him to stop. In one smooth motion he had claimed her heart, something she thought ashes long ago. "As long as you will have me."

She watched his eyes darken as he looked up at her, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Fingertips traced the shape of her face, the bow of her lips, and the contours of her cheeks, as if he would memorize them.

He eased her back, his broad hands sliding down the fabric of her shirt, lifting it over her head. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, dappling her with its warmth, even as she trembled under his touch. Tanned hands rough with callouses smoothed their way down her ribs, his lips following in their wake. She took a breath, then another, aware of the life that spun its way through her, even as the magic she held spun through her. It was a part of her, and she would not change it now, not for the world.

He enveloped her, touch and scent and taste, his lips trailing sparks in their path as he skimmed them across her belly and thighs, spurred by the flickers of magic that traced her skin. She wound her fingers in his hair as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on her sex, his tongue lapping at the wetness there like a man dying of thirst. Even as he stoked her, she felt the answering call in her belly, pooling liquid heat through her and into her core. She arched for him like one of his well-made bows, strung there by hands and lips and teeth and tongue.

She wanted this, wanted him. She urged him up, welcoming him into her body as her core thrummed with excitement, his length filling her even as she tasted her scent on his lips and tongue. He canted his hips forward, the slow burn of him igniting her from the inside out, and she rose to meet him, ice sprinkling her fingertips as she traced them along his back. He shivered, growling, at this new trick, but did not increase his pace. His movements were fluid, languid, and unhurried, and the intensity of his gaze was matched only by the sweat that soon slicked them both.

They rocked together, joined, and she floated in a daze of arousal and heat. His eyes locked on hers, he mouthed endearments and entreaties as she rode the wave of her peak, cresting as he rolled his hips downward, and then shuddering as he continued. He was not ready to give in, and she watched the play of muscles down his stomach and chest as he kept his movement, all his focus on her as she arched again, his tongue tracing a line up her throat as she crested again in those long, indolent moments.

He was hers, and she his, and all blended together as her hands clutched his shoulders, breathy sighs and whispered urgings bringing him to his peak at last. He stuttered his hips, her ankles locked around him in a firm embrace as he sank into her at last, spilling within her as he muffled his cry in the column of her throat.

Celeste stroked Sebastian's face with her hands, peppering him with kisses as he balanced on his forearms. He brushed his lips against her throat before tumbling to the side, his chest drawing in great, heaving breaths. She curled against him and he chuckled when she hooked her slender leg around his own, her fingers splayed across his chest.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I know," he said. "And I you, as I have for years."

* * *

They burned Cambert at sunset, the pyre laid out by the Hawke siblings in the courtyard by the river. The sheet wrapped body looked small and defenseless by itself, but they touched their torches to it and it blazed hot, coaxed by a wayward wisp of Celeste's magic. Sebastian could not stand by and watch the pyre smoke. He stepped forward, his hands outstretched in benediction.

"_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._ Cambert was a loyal friend, and a staunch protector. The Chantry might frown on blessing animals, but I will fight anyone who says Cambert was not one of us."

He took Celeste in his arms, holding her as she shed silent tears into his shoulder, and watched the pyre burn.

* * *

Evening settled over Arrow's Rest, the stars blanketing the sky as Celeste walked toward the library. She had cleared her things out of her room and all that was left to do was to return the books she had borrowed while she recovered to their rightful places. Three tomes were balanced in her arms, and she opened the door with care, her footsteps unsure.

She hadn't been in the library much since she'd been ill, and it was still a new place. Not as big as the circle libraries her father described, it was still the largest library she'd seen outside a Chantry. Most could not afford books, much less this many; this was a collection of many generations. She stooped to replace one of the tomes on a lower shelf, her hair falling into her eyes as she did.

She almost didn't notice the shadow looming until a pair of feet stopped in her field of vision. Scuffed slippers, like those a scholar would wear, adorned them, the hem of a robe brushing along the tops. Embroidered there was the sunburst design used by the Chantry, and she took her time replacing the book, to gather her thoughts. The shoes were too big for a female, and likely belonged to the lay brother who oversaw the chapel in the castle.

"I can put the rest of those up if you require, messere." The voice was toneless, devoid of emotion, and her earlier assumption was proven wrong. It also sent a tremor of trepidation down her spine, as her eyes traveled up the soft robes, past hands that were stained with ink, and met amber eyes that held no spark of acknowledgement or memory beyond polite inquiry. Blonde hair was tied in a neat tail and his face, creased with laugh lines that were so familiar, was blank.

Her horrified eyes slid up to the sunburst burned into his forehead.

"Oh, _Anders_," she said, the books dropping from her hands as she reached up to touch his face. "What have they done to you?"

* * *

A/N: Look, I'm not going to make any excuses for Fenris in any of these chapters. What I saw from Fenris when I played through DA2 was a bitter ex-slave who enjoyed hurting people that had hurt him before - namely, mages. If a mage (Celeste) managed to gain his trust, and then just left, how do you think he would feel? He has been consistent throughout the story, very angry at Celeste for what she's done, and unable to let go of his bias against mages. If you missed that, I'm sorry, but I'm writing this how I see it, and I see someone who has anger issues. This is all I'm going to say on the matter, because as the author, I dictate the story, and here, in this AU, I see Fenris as he was in DA2, only worse because yet another mage betrayed him.

I don't hate him, but I don't have the 'I romanced him he's so gentle' glasses that a lot of Fenris fans seem to have on. He's an interesting character, but he's got a LOT of issues that he needs to address. Your views on characterization may differ, but please, keep in mind that I'm not bashing a character - just keeping him in character as I see him.

As far as the other elements of the story go, such as Sebastian and Celeste getting along so well – she's in shock from everything that's happened, such as Cambert's death, and the talk they have while she is riding and in the bath will not be the same talk they have in the morning. Her walls are down. That makes it easier for Sebastian to break through to her. These chapters are short, and aren't what you are used to from me, especially if you follow Obeisance. (You can consider one chapter of Obeisance to be equivalent to two or even three chapters of Aquila.) In other words, hold your horses, and all will be covered in time. I know where the story is going, and there will be a resolution to all plot points. It may not go how you like, but there will be resolution.

As always, thank you for reading, and I'm sorry for the detailed author's note. I felt that these concerns should be addressed in a blanket, because I simply don't have the time to send out PMs like I used to. Know that I read every single comment, and I do take what you say into account, whether praise or criticism.

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this Chapter:**

_Ad Rem _means 'to the point'.


	19. A Priori

**A Priori**

* * *

Celeste stared at the shambling shell that had been Anders, her hand shaking as she touched the worn stubble of his cheek. His eyes did not even hold disinterest, the rich amber depths gone flat, the life in them severed with his connection to the Fade.

"Is there aught I can assist you with, messere? If not, I should return to my duties." He made a motion as if he would step back, but she caught his hand, stilling him.

"Anders," she said, her voice wavering. "Do you remember who I am?"

"You are Messere Hawke's sister, Celeste. We were allies, for a time, before you left. Before I was made Tranquil…" The placid eyes looked away from her, an automaton seeking an answer. "Before I was made Tranquil, I considered myself in love with you."

It was a fact to Anders now, no emotion behind it. She crushed him to her in a fierce hug, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to reconcile this Anders with the vibrant, conflicted man he had been. There was no comforting embrace, and she stepped back to look at him. He stood, waiting for her to speak again.

"Who did this to you?" she asked. "Who made you Tranquil?"

"Knight-Commander Cullen carried out the order himself." Anders bent to retrieve the books she dropped, his blonde ponytail bobbing. "He said that since he knew me from the Circle in Ferelden that he should be the one to carry out the deed."

"I meant – I mean, Anders, who turned you in?" Her hands fisted at her sides as she tried to rein in her outrage. "You said that Harrowed mages should never be made Tranquil."

"I turned myself in," he said. "The spirit of Justice that shared my consciousness was driving me to do more and more things that I once considered terrible. I felt remorse, and I knew I had to stop him somehow."

"He speaks the truth," came a voice from the doorway. Celeste whirled to see Fenris standing there. "Knight-Commander Cullen himself carried out the deed and turned Anders over to your brother's care. The first year of his stay at the Circle in Kirkwall left him black and blue with bruises, nightly beatings and other abuses from Templars who had ordered him to remain silent. Even now, he will not reveal their names."

Celeste looked from Fenris to Anders. "What did he do to receive such treatment?"

"Carver and Sebastian caught him in the Chantry, his arms full of explosives made from sela petrae and drakestone."

"Explosives?" she asked. Anders nodded as he placed the books on the shelves, his movements precise and mechanical. "But…why?"

"Justice and I agreed that the Grand Cleric was the only thing keeping the templars and the mages apart. She would always force Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino to reach a compromise on issues. We felt that there was only one solution – there could be no compromise. We were going to plant the explosives to remove such things from the issue."

"Carver and Sebastian caught him just as he was about to place the first one," said Fenris. "If they hadn't been in the Chantry on business, no one might have seen him. Suspicious, they followed him."

"They knew that Justice had been taking over more in those days. I would wake to find large pieces of time missing from my memory. The templars offered us a choice. I could pay for my attempt with my life, or I could pay for it like this. Justice urged me to take the latter choice. I think he felt that he alone should be punished, because the explosives were his idea."

"At the time, Anders said that he would prefer death to being Tranquil, but he would defer to Justice on this decision, because Justice had some hope of the condition being reversed in the future."

Anders nodded again. "We had seen what happened when Justice appeared in front of Karl. We wanted to know if it was repeatable."

"Why did no one tell me?" she asked, sinking into a chair. Her head snapped over to Fenris still leaning with indolent grace in the doorway. "Why are _you_ telling me this?"

"Perhaps they hoped to spare you the knowledge because they love you." Fenris stiffened. "I feel that you deserve to know the truth."

"Out of the goodness of your heart, Fenris? That's hardly like you."

"In the spirit of atonement, then," he said, his lip curling. "Do with it what you will."

"Look, I don't know why I'm still included in your list of least favorite people, but this has to stop." She shifted in the chair, folding her arms as she glared at the elf in the doorway. He was no less hostile now for his apology, but she had come to expect nothing less in the time she had known Fenris. "I've never once lifted a hand to you in anything but comradeship. I would appreciate it if you would begin to show me the same courtesy."

"Now? I'm to leave in a day, thanks to you."

"No, thanks to yourself and your anti-mage attitude. Fenris, I never wished any bad will against you. I was out of my mind with grief for my dead mother, and that's why I left. I wasn't willfully tossing you to Danarius. I didn't know he was still seeking you. I was mourning my dead mother, because I had lost _everything_."

Celeste shook her head. "I'm not your enemy, Fenris."

"But you are not my friend."

"I know. We never agreed on anything, and we only worked together to achieve our own goals, or so it felt. But this bothers you more than that, because I was the first mage who didn't try to clap you in irons the second she saw you." She took a deep breath. "I still won't, you know."

"I would like to see you try." The bite of his words was tempered by his relaxing stance. "You are…not like them. But you are still a mage. I would be remiss in my duty to Sebastian if I trusted you. "

"If I had wanted to kill Sebastian, Fenris, I would have done so the first day. You know this. You also know that I would not deal with demons, no matter how dire the situation. I'm stronger than that temptation, even at my lowest."

"If that is true, you are the strongest mage in Kirkwall," he said, shaking his head with a snort. "Even the First Enchanter was not above blood magic to achieve his ends."

"First Enchanter Orsino was a blood mage?" She sat back in the chair with the creaking of wood. "I was right – every mage in Kirkwall was a blood mage save for me."

"I have done research into the matter," said Anders, his matter-of-fact tone interrupted by the crackling of parchment. He spread the sheets in front of her, spidery runes surrounded by his cramped handwriting littering the pages. She glanced over the writing, not sure what she was seeing at first.

Then, she understood. Sucking in a breath, she looked at Anders. "The runes we kept finding in the out of the way places, the ones left by the secret society, they were warnings. A larger problem, hidden in the very stones of Kirkwall, in the city's layout."

Anders nodded. "You understand, then. The streets and buildings formed the basis of runes, powerful sigils used by the magisters when they controlled Kirkwall."

Fenris strode forward, leaning over the table to stare at the parchment. "This is the first you have mentioned this, mage."

"I am no mage, messere. I am a Tranquil. I remind you of this each time, and you forget each time."

Fenris waved an irritable hand. "These sigils, what do they mean? I am not as fluent in written Arcanum as I am in Thedosian."

Celeste traced the outlined portion of the map with her fingertips. "Runes for death – and for control. Two things that are important to a magister of the Imperium."

His eyes narrowed, assessing the map.

"They form connections. Here," he pointed at the Gallows, where the circle was located, "and here, at the Chantry. It hinges on the location of the old mines, too."

"You noticed that, too? It makes me wonder if someone else didn't figure it out. Meredith, perhaps?"

"Or Danarius." She saw his jaw work as he said the name of his long-dead former master. "Perhaps I was not the only reason he returned to Kirkwall."

"The problems with the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander superseded the reappearance of Danarius in the City of Chains," said Anders, pulling another sheet of parchment from the neat stack. "In fact, the escalation of Meredith's aggression toward mages can be traced back to the acquisition of the lyrium idol that Bartrand stole, and then summarily sold."

"So the expedition started all the insanity in Kirkwall?" Celeste raised an eyebrow. "That seems a little far-fetched."

"Nevertheless, my conclusion is that the idol had something to do with the resurgence of blood magic in the city. We saw evidence that the idol was sentient, with at least a rudimentary intelligence. The idol drove Bartrand insane, if you remember." Anders put his hand on the map of Kirkwall. "My hypothesis is that the idol was intelligent enough to make use of the runes for itself."

"Have you said anything to anyone else about this, Anders?" she asked. She was unable to look him in the face, the sunburst radiating from his forehead drawing her eye like an open wound. Instead, she tapped her fingers on the map. "Surely Knight-Commander Cullen would want to know about this?"

"I have not finished my research," said Anders, gathering up the parchment and returning it to the orderly portfolio. "It would be unwise to cause a panic where no danger might exist."

"Is that why you kept quiet? So that you could finish your research?"

"It seems that the runes combined with the lyrium idol were strong enough to corrupt even people without magical abilities." Anders shuffled the papers, reordering them. "Templars and non-mages were not immune. I had to test my theory, and it did not cause me any undue discomfort."

"Anders, they _beat_ you."

"They could have ended my life, but they did not." He replaced the portfolio on the table. "I live with the thought of my actions every day. I could have killed a lot of innocents with my actions at the Chantry, and the thought would disturb me, if I still had the capacity for emotion."

A chill ran down her spine at the quiet truth of it. Anders had done this to save himself from the cruelty that was the warped spirit of Justice inside him. He had done this with the hope of being restored somehow. She shook the thought off and forced herself to meet his dulled eyes.

"Anders, when they laid hands on you, that was nowhere near right. Even as a Tranquil, you should know that. It's not a minor discomfort if you're bruised for months."

"I needed to finish my research. There was no reason for me to refuse punishment, for I deserve what I get. I realized when Carver told me what I had almost done in the Chantry that I could not go on like that. It was monstrous to me." Anders shook his head. "Now, it does not matter. I have no feelings on the subject, or any subject at all."

It would have been said with a wry smile from the old Anders, but now, the joke fell as flat as his tone. He was probably unaware of the humor in it, as dark as it was. She compressed her lips.

"Carver treats you well, though?"

"He does. Messere Hawke is a kind man, even to the Tranquil. I have all that I require, and I suffer no discomfort."

"More than most mages get," she said. "Were you planning on coming forward with this research?"

"When I deemed I had enough information, I was to pass it along to Messere Tethras, who requested it. He would have taken action then."

"You should still do that, Anders. Maybe we can rebuild the circle here, in Starkhaven, and move the mages from the Gallows there."

"You would still seek to help them? After what they've done to you?" Fenris's voice was quiet, but his gaze was fixed on her face. "After your mother was killed by a blood mage?"

"'_Magic isn't the curse, it's cruelty._' My father didn't raise me to hate my own kind. I would save them from themselves, if I could. I failed once. I owe it to them, and to myself, to try again. I can teach them how to control it, and how to channel it towards good." Celeste clasped her hands in front of her, resting them in her lap. "My mother's killer was struck down, by my own hand. He can't hurt anyone else."

"I will never understand you, or any other mage." Fenris turned on his heel. "But you will do as you wish, as you always have."

Her voice stopped him before he could reach the door. "I know about you and my brother, Fenris."

He stiffened. "You know nothing."

"I know that you're hurting him by acting this way." Celeste smiled at the shoulders that slumped, her eyes fixed on his back. "I've stopped running, Fenris. Isn't it time that you stopped running, too?"

He didn't answer, and the door shutting behind him was the most civil silence she'd ever wrested from him. She took it as a good sign.

"Now," she said, her hands splayed across the table as she looked at Anders. "Will you tell me who hurt you?"

Anders paused over his documents, his hands steady as he thought. Then, he began to speak.

* * *

Sebastian heard the door open and close as he toweled his chest and face in front of his washbasin. He turned, finding Celeste staring at him, her hands fisted at her sides. He knew something was wrong – the play of emotion across her face was far too chaotic for it to be otherwise.

"Why didn't you tell me about Anders?"

"Ah," he said, settling himself on the edge of the bed. "I didn't know how you would react, and I knew that if I surprised you with something you didn't like, you might flee again. I was afraid, and I handled it poorly."

Instead of her storming off like he expected, her fists relaxed, and she took a deep breath, calming herself. She closed her eyes and then opened them, relaxing the rest of her body as well. He felt a surge of hope that she was planning to communicate rather than run off.

"You did," she said, speaking with calm assurance much to his delighted surprise. "I have handled quite a few things poorly myself, however, and so I have some experience with apologizing when I'm wrong."

"As do I," he said. "And I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you, but…he chose it for himself. He was riddled with guilt over what he had almost done. I shudder to think what would have happened if he had managed to place those charges. Maker's mercy, but he was planning on detonating it during noon services. He was horrified when he realized what Justice – no, _Vengeance_ – would have made him do."

He took a deep, cleansing breath, even as she sat beside him on the bed. Her hand, chilled from the coolness of the hallway, slipped over his. He took it between his own calloused palms, warming it.

"He is taken care of, the best that Carver can," he said. "There are still break-ins, sometimes Templars go after him in the streets. The Knight-Commander has made an example of those he can catch. Those he can't – those will be dealt with."

"They will. Anders told me who they were."

He stared at her. "He told you?"

"He did. Maybe he thought that I could help him. But I gave Carver the list of names about half an hour ago. He's planning on leaving for Kirkwall in the morning to pass them on to Cullen himself."

Sebastian gave a small smile. "You are a wonder."

"No, just someone who has a lot to atone for. It was the least I could have done for him. Maybe if I had stayed, Anders would never have–"

"No." Sebastian squeezed her palm. "Anders was suffering under Justice's influence. It was poisoning him, and he was poisoning the spirit. There was nothing you could have done to turn him from the path he was on. He would have only tried again."

"We'll never know that now," she said. She looked at her hand clasped between his two larger ones. "All I can do is pledge to do better."

"And that is all I can ask of you," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're already a step ahead of where you've been."

"Am I?" she asked, smiling at him.

"You didn't bolt. You came to talk to me about it." He returned her smile, pulling her close. "I would call that progress, wouldn't you?"

"I made a promise to you. I intend to keep it." Her eyes went distant then, her gaze resting on the stone of the far wall. "I want to rebuild the Circle here. We could do a lot of good for Kirkwall by getting the mages out of that city. I'll have Anders explain why in the morning, but I want to do this. We can make a difference in the Marches, if we try."

He said nothing for a long moment; afraid to break the fragile silence and shatter what he thought must be a dream. She was talking of a future here, something he had wanted from the first. He felt his chest tighten, and he wrapped his arm around her, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

"We'll talk more about it in the morning, if you wish. It will be a long road, and we'll not have the support of the Chantry – you know this."

"Because I am a mage, I know. You're free to back out at any time, you know." She nuzzled into his neck, her breath warm against his skin, and he felt himself stir. "Your nobles won't like me, either, when they discover what I am."

"I've worked too hard to give up on you now, Celeste," he said, pulling her to her feet and claiming her mouth. She yielded against him, her hands sliding up his chest and twining in his hair even as she sighed into his embrace. He nipped her jaw, teasing her as he spoke against the warm flesh of her neck in between nuzzling kisses of his own. "I've come too far to lose you now, especially to nervous nobles. If they don't like it, they're free to seek succor elsewhere."

"Such adamant words from the Prince of Starkhaven," she said, her tone light as he stroked his hands down her ribs. "You would risk everything for a mage? The Chantry will breathe down our necks our entire lives."

"Let them. They refused to help me retake Starkhaven. Why should they have a claim on it or its ruler?" He nibbled the juncture of her neck and shoulder, pleased at the gasp that he wrought from her when he gave her a sharper nip. He soothed the bite with his tongue. "Let them come. We will stand against them, whatever happens."

"What can I do but stand beside you?" She laughed as he lifted her, tossing her on the bed even as he moved to cover her. She welcomed his weight, her caresses as frantic as his own as they sank into each other, lost in themselves.

* * *

Carver awoke to a knock on his door, and he scrubbed sleep from his eyes even as he padded to answer the summons. He was clad only in a pair of sleeping pants, and he regretted it as soon as he opened the door and locked eyes with Fenris, the elf shifting from foot to foot. He frowned, leaning against the jamb.

"It's the middle of the night, Fenris."

"I'm aware," said the elf, his voice snappish until he schooled it into something resembling civility. "I – we – _I_ need to speak with you. Please."

Carver arched an eyebrow, but opened the door wider. Fenris hesitated on the threshold, but Carver was already padding back to bed.

"I have all night, Fenris, but if you don't come in, I'm going back to sleep."

That decided the elf, and he hurried in, shutting the door behind him. Carver settled his large frame on the bed, stretching out, and was surprised when Fenris dragged the solitary chair over to sit next to him.

It would indeed prove to be a fruitful discussion.

* * *

Even though everyone made note of Fenris's dappled mare saddled alongside Carver's black gelding the next morning, no one commented. Sebastian and Celeste bid their friends farewell as Anders and Varric climbed into the carriage. Carver hugged his sister to him, heedless of anyone watching, and planted a smacking kiss on her forehead.

"You'll write often, Ceelee?"

"Once a week at least, Carver," she said, laughing. "Leave off. You're embarrassing yourself."

He cleared his throat and stepped back, meeting Sebastian's gaze. He gave Sebastian a nod, which he returned, a small smile on his lips.

"She'll want for nothing, Carver, I promise."

"She'd better not. I'll break your legs."

"Carver!"

"Just a reminder, Ceelee."

Fenris said not a word, but leapt into the saddle with his customary grace. Celeste gave him a tiny smile, and he responded with a curt nod. There might not ever be true peace between them, but the effort was there, and that was what mattered. She stepped back, Sebastian's arm snaking around her waist as Carver mounted his horse.

"We'll speak to the Knight-Commander about moving operations to the Circle here within the year," Carver said. "You were rebuilding the tower outside the city, right?"

"There were plans to do so," replied Sebastian. "I'll oversee it personally."

Carver nodded. "I'll keep you updated, Your Highness."

It was the first time he had ever referred to Sebastian by his title, and the respect caught him off guard. He smiled at Carver, who grinned back.

"Safe travels, Champion."

Fenris and Carver kicked their horses into a gallop, pounding from the courtyard of Arrow's Rest as the carriage followed close behind. Sebastian watched them go for a moment before turning to Celeste. Catching up her hand, he kissed her fingertips.

"Shall we go inside and make our plans, love? We have a lot to do."

She smiled and tucked her arm into his as they wended their way into the castle.

* * *

A/N: And so, you get a happy ending, of sorts. I can't believe I wrote this to give myself room for a sequel. Damn it, brain. Anyway. There's an epilogue forthcoming as well, which I'll post shortly. As always, thanks for reading!

~Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this Chapter:**

_A Priori _means 'what came before'.


	20. In Fine

**In Fine**

* * *

**Two Years Later**

* * *

Sebastian held the squirming animal between his knees, the bleating sheep wriggling as he held it in a firm grip. One hand held the shears, clipping in a steady rhythm as he turned the animal to get the wool from it in one large piece. It was the last animal to be sheared that day, the farmers always appreciative of the extra hand. He found it calming, the work backbreaking but mind-clearing; he found answers to matters of state even as he grunted at his labors, his shirt long since discarded and his chest slick with the sheen of sweat.

A shadow falling across the animal made him look up, and a familiar sunburst on the woman's breastplate made his lip curl. He had met her before, long ago when he was still a lay brother of the Chantry. He finished his task before he spoke to her, tossing the wool into a bin to be cleaned and baled later. He turned, not offering any sort of welcome.

"Seeker Pentaghast."

"I see you remember me, Your Highness. I'm flattered."

"I had a feeling you would find me. You wish my aid to help prevent a war."

"You are as astute as the rumors make you out to be."

"No, I am aware of what goes on beyond my borders, nothing more. I heard about the revolt in Nevarra. Someone heard about Anders's actions in the Chantry, as much as you tried to keep them quiet, and pulled a similar stunt in the Chantry there. This time, the culprit was not caught."

"Then you know that the Chantry needs your aid more than ever. We have called to all our faithful, asking them to aid us in this trying time and to support us in the coming battles. There will be an Exalted March, with a place at the Maker's side for those who fall in the battle for righteousness."

"I gave up my duties in the Chantry long ago, Seeker. I am a simple man, with simple wishes, and I do not involve myself in the Chantry's wars any longer."

"You were once one of our most faithful brothers, Sebastian. You have the power to inspire your country to help the Chantry do good works."

"I don't think you heard me," he said, his tone slipping into the icy reaches as he brought his full displeasure to bear on the Chantry sister. "I will not play with the Divine's political machinations. Had you aided me when I asked for troops to retake my home, I would gladly aid you now. But the Divine is after one thing and one thing only – the Divine's will. I will not be a party to that any longer."

"You have been corrupted by your blood mage, as I was told," said Cassandra, her lips tightening. "We will have to purge you as well."

He froze, his nostrils flaring. "What did you just say?"

"The mage you keep in your bed. She has corrupted you into weakness. Do not think that the Divine has turned a blind eye to what goes on in Starkhaven, your highness. She sees all, and She is most displeased. You keep mages on loose chains here, if they can be called chains at all. They live in the village, amongst the people, where they run the risk of corruption and contaminating of the common folk every day. Their own prince beds the so called "First Enchanter", and proclaims her his lawful wedded wife!"

He ground his teeth. "She is my wife, Seeker, and you will hold your tongue."

"Your marriage is not legal in the eyes of the Maker, whelp," she snapped. "You would destroy our very way of life with the heresies you both spew. I came here as a gesture of good will, to turn you back on the Maker's path. I see now that the corruption runs deep, and I must make my report to the Divine as such."

In a flash, he moved, slamming her hard against the wooden wall of the barn. The blow stunned her, and her eyes widened as his blue eyes locked onto hers, burning in an intensity he hadn't felt in years.

"You have threatened my people, my kingdom, and my wife in the same breath. You have spewed lies and slander across all I hold dear, and you expect me to take it because you work in the Maker's name. You care nothing for the faith you claim to have, for as you rode through here, you would have seen the Maker's splendor, all untainted by the Chantry. If you cross my borders again, I will consider it an act of war by Orlais."

"You have no allies who would support you in such a foolish endeavor!" she said, her eyes narrowing, scalding like coals in her face. "None would dare go against the mouth of the Maker himself!"

"The Queen of Ferelden counts herself as one of my allies, as does the King. Were I to go to war, they would stand beside me. You know how much Ferelden hates Orlais. You think they would not jump at the chance to humiliate you once again on the field of combat?" he asked, a feral smile spreading across his face. "I imagine I could rope more to my cause, including the mages you wish to go to war against."

He released her, stepping back and barking for his retinue. His two bodyguards stepped in, and he gestured to her. They hauled her to her feet, and he glared at her.

"Escort her across the border. If she attempts to return, kill her and send her head back to the Divine in a sack. She will learn that not everyone appreciates the yoke she places on us."

"You were once the most faithful of us, Sebastian. What has happened to you?"

"Nothing but the Maker's will. His hands have guided me here, and no one else's. You might consider that before threatening His children again."

He watched them drag the Seeker away, his arms folded as he stood in deep thought. The times were changing, and the winds of war were blowing. Would it be enough to stand with Celeste against the tide? He thought of her, waiting for him back at the keep, and knew that it would.

They would face it together, to the Void with the consequences.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

A/N: At last. I hope you have enjoyed _Aquila_. This was intended to be an AU of the story _Obeisance,_ which is still ongoing. You will see some of the plot points I touched on here in that story, when I pick it back up later next week.

Though it may not always go in the places you wanted it to go, or you may not agree with the characterizations, it's done, and it stands as it is. Thank you, Constant Readers, for sticking with me through this story. It has been long, and rough, but I have finished at last. (All while leaving myself open for a sequel, d'oh!) I've seen support for my writing, and criticism, but I would not have finished this without encouragement from Minfarshaw, one of the harshest betas ever and a screeching harpy of the finest magnitude, as well as the rest of the Sebastian Support Group on Facebook. (Especially to Diwa, who is drawing the first chapter in comic form as I type this. Six pages are done already, and you can see a sample and a link on my Livejournal.) You ladies are all wonderful, the very best of influences.

Also, to Illusionary Ennui, whom I beta for: if I can do it, you can finish _Blessing_. It will come, in time. (The rest of you should go read that while I take a break. It's good, and she could use your encouragement. Go read it nao.)

I have learned a lot while writing this, as I learn with everything I write. I will not compromise the story for anyone, not even myself, and I have to learn to remember that. Love it or hate it, it's over at last. Thank you again for reading, and I appreciate the comments and support I get. I also appreciate the criticism. Don't think I don't.**  
**

Lywinis

**Fun Facts for this Chapter:**

_In Fine _means 'the end'.**  
**


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